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THE  LIBRARY  OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY  OF 

NORTH  CAROLINA 


THE  COLLECTION  OF 
NORTH  CAROLINIANA 

FROM  THE  LIBRARY  OF 

William  C.  Coughenour 


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TMif 

POETICAL  WORKS 

OF 

<BDB®3E(B3B  £Go  SI  ®  IB  93?  3D  ST  $ 
flie  Colored  Bard  of  North-Carolina, 

TO  WHICH  I?  PREFIXED 


THE  LIFE  OF  TM  AUTHOR 


WRITTEN  BY  HIMSELF. 


HILLSBOROUGH: 
PRINTED  BY  D.  HEARTT, 

J845. 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 
in  2013 


http://archive.org/details/poeticalworksofgOOhort 


LIFE  OF 

<BIB®IB<BIB  mo  m<3mT$®289 
The  Colored  Bard  of  North-Carolina. 


T^ROM  the  importunate  request  of  a  few 
individuals,  I  assume  the  difficult  task  of 
■writing  a  concise  history  of  my  life.  But  to 
open  a  scene  of  all  the  past  occurrences  of  my 
life  I  shall  not  undertake,  since  1  should  fail 
by  more  than  two-thirds  in  the  matter.  But 
if  you  will  condescend  to  read  it,  I  will  endea- 
vor to  give  a  slight  specimen  entirely  clear  of 
exaggeration.  A  tedious  and  prolix  detail  in 
the  matter  may  not  be  of  any  expected,  since 
there  is  necessarily  so  much  particularity  le- 
quired  in  a  biographical  narrative. 

I  was  born  in  Northampton  county,  N  C, 
near  the  line  of  Virginia,  and  within  four  miles 
of  the  Roanoke  River;  the  property  of  Wil- 
liam Horton,  senior,  who  also  owned  my 
mother,  and  the  whole  stock  of  her  children, 
which  were  five  before  me,  all  girls,  but  not  of 
one  father.  I  am  the  oldest  child  that  my 
r       mother  had  by  her  second  husband,  and  she  had 


IV 

four  younger  than  myself,  one  boy  and  three 
girls.  But  to  account  for  my  age  is  beyond 
the  reach  of  my  power.  I  was  early  fond  of 
music,  with  an  extraordinary  appetite  for  sing- 
ing lively  times,  for  which  I  was  a  little  re- 
markable. In  the  course  of  a  few  years  after 
my  birth,  from  the  sterility  of  his  land,  my  old 
master  assumed  the  notion  to  move  into  Chat- 
ham, a  more  fertile  and  fresh  part  of  country 
recently  settled,  and  whose  waters  were  far 
more  healthy  and  agreeable.  I  here  become 
a  cow-boy,  which  I  followed  for  perhaps  ten 
years  in  succession,  or  more.  In  the  course 
of  this  disagreeable  occupation,  I  became  fond 
of  hearing  people  read;  but  being  nothing  but 
a  poor  cow-boy,  1  had  but  little  or  no  thought 
of  ever  being  able  to  read  or  spell  one  word 
or  sentence  in  any  book  whatever.  My  moth- 
er discovered  my  anxiety  for  books,  and  strove 
to  encourage  my  plan;  but  she,  having  left  her 
husband  behind,  was  so  hard  run  to  make  a 
little  shift  for  herself,  that  she  could  give  me 
no  assistance  in  that  case.  At  length  I  took 
a  resolution  to  learn  the  alphabet  at  all  events; 
and  lighting  by  chance  at  times  with  soma 
opportunities  of  being  in  the  presence  of 
school  children,  I  learnt  the  letters  by  heart; 
and  fortunately  afterwards  got  hold  of  some 


M  parts  of  spelling  books  abounding  with 
these  elements,  which  I  learnt  with  but  little 
difficulty.  And  by  this  time,  my  brother  was 
deeply  excited  by  the  assiduity  which  he  dis- 
covered in  me,  to  learn  himself;  and  some  of 
his  partial  friends  strove  to  put  him  before  me, 
and  I  in  a  stump  now,  and  a  sorry  instrument 
to  work  with  at  that.  But  still  my  brother 
never  could  keep  time  with  me.  He  was  in- 
deed an  ostentatious  youth,  and  of  a  far  more 
attractive  person  than  myself,  more  forward 
in  manly  show,  and  early  became  fond  of  po- 
pularity to  an  astonishing  degree  for  one  of 
his  age  and  capacity.  He  strove  hard  on 
the  wing  of  ambition  to  soar  above  me,  and 
could  write  a  respectable  fist  before  I  could 
form  the  first  letter  with  a  pen,  or  barely  knew 
the  use  of  a  goose-quill.  And  I  must  say  that 
he  was  quite  a  remarkable  youth,  as  studious 
as  a  judge,  but  much  too  full  of  vain  loung- 
ing among  the  fair  sex. 

But  to  return  to  the  earlier  spring  of  my 
progress.  Though  blundering,  I  became  a 
far  better  reader  than  he;  but  we  were  indeed 
both  remarkable  for  boys  of  color,  and  hard 
raising.  On  well  nigh  every  Sabbath  during 
the  year,  did  I  retire  away  in  the  summer  sea- 
son to  some  shady  and  lonely  recess,  when  I 


VI 

could  stammer  over  the  dim  and  promiscuous 
syllables  in  my  old  black  and  tattered  spelling 
book,  sometimes  a  piece  of  one,  and  then  of 
another;  nor  would  I  scarcely  spare  the  time 
to  return  to  my  ordinary  meals,  being  so  tru- 
ly engaged  with  my  book.  And  by  close  appli- 
cation to  my  book  at  night,  my  visage  became 
considerally  emaciated  by  extreme  perspira- 
tion, having  no  lucubratory  aparatus,  no  can- 
dle, no  lamp,  nor  even  light-wood,  being 
chiefly  raised  in  oaky  woods.  Hence  I  had 
to  sit  sweating  and  smoking  over  my  incom- 
petent bark  or  brush  light,  almost  exhausted 
by  the  heat  of  the  fire,  and  almost  suffocated 
with  smoke ;  consequently  from  Monday 
morning  I  anticipated  with  joy  the  approach 
of  the  next  Sabbath,  that  I  might  again  retire 
to  the  pleasant  umbrage  of  the  woods,  whith- 
er I  was  used  to  dwell  or  spend  the  most  of 
the  day  with  ceaseless  investigation  over  my 
book.  A  number  strove  to  dissuade  me  from 
my  plan,  and  had  the  presumption  to  tell 
me  that  I  was  a  vain  fool  to  attempt  learning 
to  read  with  as  little  chance  as  I  had.  Play 
boys  importunately  insisted  on  my  abandon- 
ing my  foolish  theory,  and  go  with  them  on 
streams,  desport,  and  sacrifice  the  day  in  ath* 
letic  folly,  or  alibatic  levity.     Nevertheless 


vu 

did  I  persevere  with  an  indefatigable  resolu- 
tion, at  the  risk  of  success.  But  ah!  the  op- 
positions with  which  I  contended  are  too  te- 
dious to  relate,  but  not  too  formidable  to  sur- 
mount; and  I  verily  believe  that  those  obsta- 
cles had  an  auspicious  tendency  to  waft  me, 
as  on  pacific  gales,  above  the  storms  of  envy 
and  the  calumniating  scourge  of  emulation, 
from  which  literary  imagination  often  sinks 
beneath  its  dignity,  and  instruction  languishes 
at  the  shrine  of  vanity.  I  reached  the  threa- 
tening heights  of  literature,  and  braved  in  a 
manner  the  clouds  of  disgust  which  reared  in 
thunders  under  my  feet.  This  brings  to  mind 
the  verse  of  an  author  on  the  adventurous 
seaman. 

*  The  wandering  sailor  ploughs  the  main, 
A  competence  in  life  to  gain; 
The  threatening  waves  around  him  foam, 
'Till  flattering  fancy  wafts  him  home." 

For  the  overthrow  and  downfal  of  my  scheme 
had  been  repeatedly  threatened.  But  with 
defiance  I  accomplished  the  arduous  task  of 
spelling,  (for  thus  it  was  with  me,)  having  no 
facilitating  assistance.  From  this  I  entered 
into  reading  lessons  with  triumph.  I  became 
very  fond  of  reading  parts  of  the  New  Testa- 


ment,  such  as  I  could  pick  up  as  they  lay 
about  at  random;  but  I  soon  became  more 
fond  of  reading  verses,  Wesley's  old  hymns, 
and  other  peices  of  poetry  from  various  au- 
thors. 1  became  foGnd  of  it  to  that  degree, 
that  whenever  I  chanced  to  light  on  a  piece  of 
paper,  so  common  to  be  lying  about,  I  would 
pick  it  up  in  order  to  examine  it  whether  it 
was  written  in  that  curious  style  or  not.  If 
it  was  not,  unless  some  remarkable  prose,  I 
threw  it  aside;  and  if  it  was,  I  as  carefully  pre- 
served it  as  I  would  a  piece  of  money.  At 
length  I  began  to  wonder  whether  it  was  pos- 
sible that  I  ever  could  be  so  fortunate  as  to 
compose  in  that  manner.  I  fell  to  work  in 
my  head,  and  composed  several  undigested 
pieces,  which  I  retained  in  my  mind,  for  I 
knew  nothing  about  writing  with  a  pen,  also 
without  the-  least  grammatical  knowledge,  a 
few  lines  of  which  I  yet  retain.  I  will  give 
you  the  following  specimen.  On  one  very 
Calm  Sabbath  morning,  a  while  before  the 
time  of  preaching,  I  undertook  to  compose  a 
divine  hymn,  being  under  some  serious  im- 
pression of  mind: 

Rise  up,  my  soul,  and  let  ns  go 
Up  to  the  gospel  feast; 


Giid  on  the  garment  white  as  snow, 
To  join  and  be  a  guest. 

Dost  thou  not  hear  the  trumpet  call 
For  thee*  my  soul,  for  thee? 

Not  only  thee,  my  soul,  but  all, 
May  rise  and  enter  free. 

The  other  part  I  cannot  now  recollect.  But 
in  the  course  of  some  eight  or  ten  months, 
Under  similar  pensive  impressions,  I  compos- 
ed the  following: 

Excited  from  reading  the  obedience  of  Nature  to  her 
Lord  in  the  vessel  on  the  sea. 

Master,  we  perish  if  thou  sleep, 
We  know  not  whence  to  fly; 
The  thunder  seems  to  rock  the  deep, 
Death  frowns  from  all  the  sky. 

He  rose,  he  ran,  and  looking  out, 
He  said,  ye  seas,  be  still; 
What  art  thou,  cruel  storm,  about? 
All  silenced  at  his  will. 

Dost  thou  not  know  that  thou  art  mine, 
And  all  thy  liquid  stoues; 
Who  ordered  first  the  sun  to  shine 
And  gild  thy  swelling  shores. 


My  smile  is  but  the  death  of  harm, 
Whilst  riding  on  the  wind, 
My  power  restrains  the  thunder's  arm, 
Which  dies  in  chains  confined. 

After  having  read  the  travel  of  Israel  from 
Egypt  to  the  Red  Red  Sea,  where  they  tri- 
umphantly arrive  on  the  opposite  bank,  I 
was  excited  to  compose  the  following  few 
lines : 

Sing,  O  ye  ransom'd,  shout  and  tell 

What  God  has  done  for  ye; 
The  horses  and  their  riders  fell 

And  perish'd  in  the  sea. 

Look  back,  the  vain  Egyptian  dies 
Whilst  plunging  from  the  shore; 

He  groans,  he  sinks,  but  not  to  rise, 
King  Pharaoh  is  no  more. 

Many  other  pieces  did  I  compose,  which 
have  long  since  slipped  my  recollection,  and 
some  perhaps  better  than  those  before  you. 
During  this  mental  conflict  no  person  was  ap- 
prised of  my  views  except  my  brother,  who 
rather  surmised  it,  being  often  in  converse 
with  me,  and  who  was  equally  emulous  for 
literature,  and  strove  to  rival  me.     Though 


XI 

he  learnt  to  read  very  well  for  one  of  color, 
it  seems  that  his  genius  did  not  direct  him 
towards  Parnassus,  for  he  was  rather  a  Jo- 
sephus  than  a  Homer;  though  he  could  write 
very  well  before  I  could  form  the  first  letter 
as  above  stated,  for  I  devoted  most  of  my  op- 
portunities to  the  study  of  composing  or  try- 
ing to  compose.  At  any  critical  juncture, 
when  any  thing  momentous  transpired,  such 
as  death,  misfortune,  disappointment,  and  the 
like,  it  generally  passed  off  from  my  mind 
like  the  chanting  of  birds  after  a  storm,  for 
my  mind  was  then  more  deeply  inspired  than 
at  other  periods. 

One  thing  is  to  be  lamented  much;  that  is, 
that  ever  I  was  raised  in  a  family  or  neigh- 
borhood inclined  to  dissipation,  or  that  the 
foul  seed  should  have  been  sown  in  the  bosom 
of  youth,  to  stifle  the  growth  of  uncultivated 
genius,  which  like  a  torch  lifted  from  a  cell 
in  the  midst  of  rude  inclement  winds,  which, 
instead  of  kindling  its  blaze,  blows  it  out.  My 
old  master,  being  an  eminent  farmer,  who  had 
acquired  a  competent  stock  of  living  through 
his  own  prudence  and  industry,  did  not  de- 
scend to  the  particularity  of  schooling  his 
children  at  any  high  rate;  hence  it  is  clear  that 
he  cared  less  for  the  improvement  of  the  mind 


Xll 

of  his  servants.  In  fact,  he  was  a  man  who 
aspired  to  a  great  deal  of  elaborate  business, 
and  carried  me  into  measures  almost  beyond 
my  physical  ability.  Often  has  he  called  me 
with  my  fellow  laborers  to  his  door  to  get  the 
ordinary  dram,  of  which  he  was  much  too 
fond  himself;  and  we,  willing  to  copy  the  ex- 
ample, partook  freely  in  order  to  brave  the 
storms  of  hardship,  and  thought  it  an  honor 
to  be  intoxicated.  And  it  was  then  the  case 
with  the  most  of  people;  for  they  were  like 
savages,  who  think  little  or  nothing  of  the  re- 
sult of  lewd  conduct.  Nay,  in  those  days, 
when  the  stream  of  intemperance  was  little 
regarded,  the  living  had  rather  pour  a  libation 
on  the  bier  of  the  dead  than  to  hear  a  solemn 
funeral  preached  from  the  hallowed  lips  of  a 
divine ;  for  Bacchus  was  honored  far  more 
than  Ceres,  and  they  would  rather  impair  the 
fences  of  fertile  lands  in  their  inebriating 
course,  than  to  assist  a  prudent  farmer  in  cul- 
tivating a  field  for  the  space  of  an  hour. 

Those  days  resembled  the  days  of  martyr- 
dom, and  all  Christendom  seemed  to  be  relaps- 
ing into  dissipation;  and  libertinism,  obsceni- 
ty and  profanation  were  in  their  full  career; 
and  the  common  conversation  was  impregnat- 
ed with  droll  blasphemy.     In  those  days  sen- 


XIII 

filial  gratification  was  prohibited  by  few;  for 
drinking,  I  had  almost  said,  was  a  catholic  to- 
leration, and  from  1800  to  1810  there  was 
I  scarcely  a  page  of  exemplary  conduct  laid  be- 
fore my  eyes.  Hence  it  was  inevitably  my 
misfortune  to  become  a  votary  to  that  growing 
evil;  and  like  a  Saul,  I  was  almost  ready  to 
hold  the  garments  of  an  abominable  rabble  in 
their  public  sacrilege,  to  whom  the  tender  of 
a  book  was  offensive,  especially  to  those  who 
followed  distilling  on  the  Sabbath  in  the  midst 
of  a  crowd  of  profligate  sots,  gambling  around, 
regardless  of  demon,  or  Deity!  Such  scenes 
I  have  witnessed  with  my  own  eyes,  when 
not  a  Sunday  school  was  planted  in  all  the  sur- 
rounding vicinities. 

My  old  master  having  come  to  the  conclu- 
sion to  confer  part  of  his  servants  on  his  child- 
ren, lots  were  cast,  and  his  son  James  fell 
heir  to  me.  He  was  then  living  on  Northh- 
ampton, in  the  winter  of  1814.  In  1815  he 
moved  into  Chatham,  when  my  opportunities 
became  a  little  expanded.  Having  got  in  the 
way  of  carrying  fruit  to  the  college  at  Chapel 
Hill  on  the  Sabbath,  the  collegians  who,  for 
their  diversion,  were  fond  of  pranking  with 
the  country  servants  who  resorted  there  for 
the  same  purpose  that  I  did,  began  also  to 


XIV 

prank  with  me.  But  some  how  or  other 
they  discovered  a  spark  of  genius  in  me,  eith- 
er by  discourse  or  other  means,  which  excit~ 
ed  their  curiosity,  and  they  often  eagerly  in- 
sisted on  me  to  spout,  as  they  called  it.  This 
inspired  in  me  a  kind  of  enthusiastic  pride. 
I  was  indeed  too  full  of  vain  egotism,  which 
always  discovers  the  gloom  of  ignorance,  or 
dims  the  lustre  of  popular  distinction.  I 
would  stand  forth  and  address  myself  extem- 
pore before  them,  as  an  orator  of  inspired 
promptitude.  But  I  soon  found  it  an  object 
of  aversion,  and  considered  myself  nothing 
but  a  public  ignoramus.  Hence  I  abandoned 
my  foolish  harangues,  and  began  to  speak  of 
poetry,  which  lifted  them  still  higher  on  the 
wing  of  astonishment;  all  eyes  were  on  me, 
and  all  ears  were  open.  Many  were  at  first 
incredulous;  but  the  experiment  of  acrostics 
established  it  as  an  incontestable  fact.  Hence 
my  fame  soon  circulated  like  a  stream  through- 
out the  college.  Many  of  these  acrostics  I 
composed  at  the  handle  of  the  plough,  and 
retained  them  in  my  head,  (being  unable  to 
write,)  until  an  opportunity  offered,  when  I 
dictated,  whilst  one  of  the  gentlemen  would 
serve  as  my  emanuensis.  I  have  composed 
love  pieces  in  verse  for  courtiers  from  all  parts 


XV 

of  the  state,  and  acrostics  on  the  names  of  ma- 
ny of  the  tip  top  belles  of  Virginia,  South  Ca- 
rolina and  Georgia.  But  those  criticising 
gentlemen  saw  plainly  what  I  lacked,  and  ma- 
ny of  them  very  generously  gave  me  such 
books  as  they  considered  useful  in  my  case, 
which  I  received  with  much  gratitude,  and 
improved  according  to  my  limited  opportuni- 
ties. Among  these  gentlemen  the  following 
names  occur  to  me:  Mr.  Robert  Gilliam,  Mr. 
Augustus  Washington,  Mr.  Cornelius  Rober- 
son,  Mr.  Augustus  Alston,  Mr.  Benjamin 
Long,  Mr.  William  Harden,  Mr.  Merryfort, 
Mr.  Augustus  Moore,  Mr.  Thomas  Pipkin, 
Mr.  A.  Rencher,  Mr.  Rllerbee,  Mr.  Gilmer, 
Mr.  William  Pickett,  Mr.  Leonidas  Polk, 
Mr.  Samuel  Hinton,  Mr.  Pain,  Mr.  Steward, 
Mr,  Gatlin,  Mr.  J.  Hogan,  Mr.  John  Pew, 
Messrs  W.  and  J.  Haywood,  and  several 
more  whose  names  have  slipped  my  memo- 
ry; all  of  whom  were  equally  liberal  to  me, 
and  to  them  I  ascribe  my  lean  grammatical 
studies.  Among  the  books  given  me  were 
Murray's  English  Grammar  and  its  accord- 
ant branches;  Johnson's  Dictionary  in  minia- 
ture, and  also  Walker's  and  Sheridan's,  and 
parts  of  others.  And  other  books  of  use  they 
gave  me,  which  I  had  no   chance  to  peruse 


X¥l 

minutely,  Milton's  Paradise  Lost,  Thompr 
son's  Seasons,  parts  of  Homer's  Uliad  anil 
Virgil's  iEnead,  Beauties  of  Shakespear, 
Beauties  of  Byron,  part  of  Plutarch,  Morse's 
Geography,  the  Columbian  Orator,  Snow- 
den's  History  of  the  Revolution,  Young's 
IN  ight  Thoughts,  and  some  others,  which  my 
concentration  of  business  did  not  suffer  me  tp 
pursue  with  any  scientific  regularity. 

Mr.  Augustus  Alston  first  laid  (as  he  said) 
the  low  price  of  twenty=rfive  cents  on  my  com- 
positions each,  which  was  unanimously  es- 
tablished, and  has  been  kept  up  ever  since; 
but  some  gentlemen  extremely  generous,  have 
given  me  from  fifty  to  seyenty-flve  cents,  be- 
sides many  decent  and  repectable  suits  of 
clothes,  professing  that  they  would  not  suffer 
me  to  pass  otherwise  and  write  for  them. 

But  there  is  one  thing  with  which  I  am 
sorry  to  charge  many  of  these  gentlemen. 
Before  the  moral  evil  of  excessive  drinking 
had  been  impressed  upon  my  mind,  they  flat- 
tered me  into  the  belief  that  it  wpmM  hang  me 
on  the  wings  of  new  inspiration,  which  would 
waft  me  into  regions  of  poetical  perfection. 
And  I  am  not  a  little  astonished  that  nature  and 
reason  had  not  taught  me  better  before,  after 
having  walked  so  long  on  a  line  which  plain? 


ly  dictated  and  read  to  me,  though  young,  the 
lesson  of  human  destruction.  This  realizes 
the  truth  of  the  sentiment  in  the  address  of 
the  Earl  of  Chatham,  in  which  he  spoke  of 
"  the  wretch  who,  after  having  seen  the  diffi- 
culties of  a  thousand  errors,  continues  still 
to  blunder ;"  and  I  have  now  experienced 
the  destructive  consequences  of  walking  in 
such  a  devious  line  from  the  true  centre  to 
which  I  was  so  early  attracted  by  the  magnet 
of  genius.  But  I  have  discovered  the  bene- 
ficial effects  of  temperance  and  regularity, 
and  fly  as  a  penitent  suppliant  to  the  cell  of 
private  reflection,  sorrowing  that  I  ever  had 
driven  my  boat  of  life  so  near  the  wrecking 
shoals  of  death,  or  that  I  was  allured  by  the 
music  of  sirens  that  sing  to  ensnare  the  lovers 
of  vanity. 

To  the  much  distinguished  Mrs.  Hentz  of 
Boston,  I  owe  much  for  the  correction  of  ma- 
ny poetical  errors.  Being  a  professional  po- 
etess herself,  and  a  lover  of  genius,  she  disco- 
vered my  little  uncultivated  talent,  and  was 
moved  by  pity  to  uncover  to  me  the  beauties 
of  correctness,  together  with  the  true  impor- 
tance of  the  object  to  which  I  aspired.  She 
was  extremely  pleased  with  the  dirge  which 
I  wrote  on  the  death  of  her  much  lamented 


XVIU 

primogenial  infant,  and  for  which  she  gave  m6 
much  credit  and  a  handsome  reward.  Not 
being  able  to  write  myself,  1  dictated  while  she 
wrote;  and  while  thus  engaged  she  strove  in 
vain  to  avert  the  inevitable  tear  slow  trickling 
down  her  ringlet-shaded  cheek.  She  was  in- 
deed unequivocally  anxious  to  announce  the 
birth  of  my  recent  and  astonishing  fame,  and 
sent  its  blast  on  the  gale  of  passage  back  to 
the  frozen  plains  of  Massachusetts. 

This  celebrated  lady,  however,  did  not  con- 
tinue long  at  Chapel  Hill,  and  I  had  to  regret 
the  loss  of  her  aid,  which  I  shall  never  forget 
in  life.  At  her  departure  from  Chapel  Hill, 
she  left  behind  her  the  laurel  of  Thalia  bloom- 
ing on  ray  £ainJ,  and  went  with  all  the  spot- 
less gaiety  of  Euphrooyne  with  regard  to  the 
■signal  services  whieii  she  had  done  me.  In 
gratitude  for  all  these  favors,  by  which  she 
attempted  to  supply  and  augment  the  stock 
of  servile  genius,  I  inscribe  to  her  the  fol* 
lowing 

EULOGY. 

Deep  on  thy  pillar,  thou  immortal  dame, 

Trace  the  inscription  of  eternal  fame; 

For  bards  tinhorn  must  yet  thy  works  adore, 


XIX 

And  bid  thee  live  when  others  are  no  more. 
When  other  names  are  lost  among  the  dead, 
Some  genius  yet  may  live  thy  fame  to  spread; 
Memory's  fair  bush  shall  not  decline  to  bloom, 
But  flourish  fresh  upon  thy  sacred  tomb. 
When  nature's  crown  iefuses  to  be  gay, 
And  ceaseless  streams  have  worn  their  rocks 

away; 
W7hen  age's  vail  shall  beauty's  visage  mask, 
And  bid  oblivion  blot  the  poet's  task, 
Time's  final  shock  shall  elevate  thy  name, 
And  lift  thee  smiling  to  eternal  fame. 

I  now  commit  my  brief  and  blundering  task 
to  the  inspection  of  the  public,  not  pretending 
to  warrant  its  philology  nor  its  orthography, 
since  grammarians,  through  criterions  them- 
selves, from  precipitation  do  not  always  es- 
cape improprieties  ;  and  which  little  task,  as 
before  observed,  I  should  not  have  assumed 
had  it  not  been  insisted  on  by  some  parti- 
cular gentlemen,  for  I  did  not  consider  my- 
self capable  of  such  an  undertaking.  I  trust, 
therefore,  that  rny  readers  will  rather  pity 
than  abuse  the  essay  of  their  unqualified 
writer. 

I  will  conclude  with  the  following  lines 
from  the  memorable   pen   of  Mr.  Linn,  in 


XX 

which  he  has  done  honor  to  the  cause  of  illi- 
terate genius : 

*'  Though  in  the  dreary  depth  of  gothic gloom, 
Genius  will  burst  the  fetters  of  her  tomb; 
Yet  education  should  direct  her  way, 
And   nerve  with  firmer  grasp  her  powerful 
sway." 


INTRODUCTION. 


The  author  of  the  following  miscellane- 
ous effusions,  asserts  that  they  are  original, 
and  recently  written;  and  they  are  now  pre- 
sented to  the  test  of  criticism,  whatever  may 
be  the  result.  It  is  entirely  different  from 
his  other  work  entitled  the  Museum,  and  has 
been  written  some  time  since  that,  and  is  not 
so  large.  The  author  is  far  from  flattering 
himself  with  an  idea  of  superiority,  or  even 
equality  with  ancient  or  other  modern  poets. 
He  is  deeply  conscious  of  his  own  inferiority 
from  the  narrowness  of  the  scope  in  which  he 
has  lived  during  the  course  of  his  past  life. 
Few  men  of  either  a  white  or  colored  popula- 
tion, have  been  less  prompted  by  a  desire  for 
public  fame  than  he  whose  productions  are 
now  before  j-ou.  He  was  actuated  merely 
by  pleasure  and  curiosity,  as  a  call  to  some 
literary  task,  or  as  an  example  to  remove  the 
doubts  of  cavilists  with  regard  to  African  ge- 
gius.  His  birth  was  low,  and  in  a  neigh- 
borhood by  no  means  populous;  his  raising 


XX11 

was  rude  and  laborious;  his  exertions  were 
cramped,  and  his  progress  obstructed  from 
start  to  goal;  having  been  ever  deprived  of  the 
free  use  of  books  and  other  advantages  to 
which  he  aspired.  Hence  his  genius  is  but 
an  unpolished  diamond,  and  can  never  shine 
forth  to  the  world. 

Forbid  to  make  the  least  attempt  to  soar, 
The  stifled  blaze  of  genius  burns  the  more; 
He  still  prevails  his  drooping  head  to  raise, 
Plods  through  the  bogs,  and  on  the  moun- 
tains gaze. 


THE 

OF 

GEORGE  ill.  MORTON. 

THE  MUSICAL  CHAMBER. 

I  trust  that  my  friends  will  remember, 
Whilst  I  these  my  pleasures  display, 

Resort  to  my  musical  chamber, 
The  laurel  crown'd  desert  in  May. 

Resort  to  this  chamber  at  leisure, 
Attend  it  by  night  and  by  day; 

To  feast  on  the  dainties  of  pleasure, 
Which  cannot  be  stinted  in  May. 

This  place  is  both  pleasing  and  moral, 
A  chamber  both  lovely  and  gay, 

In  the  shade  of  a  ne'er  fading  laurel, 
Whose  grace  in  December  is  May. 


Abounding  with  every  fine  story, 
While  time  passes  hurrying  aw 


av, 


24 

This  place  is  a  banquet  of  glory, 

Which  rings  with  the  ditties  of  May. 

The  chamber  of  Chatham  and  Dolly, 

A  place  of  a  comical  play, 
Gave  place  unto  Lovel's  fine  folly, 

The  birds  and  sweet  flowers  of  May. 

Here  Venus  attends  with  her  lover, 
Here  Floras  their  suitors  betray, 

And  uncommon  secrets  discover, 

Which  break  from  the  bosom  of  May. 

• 
Here  ever  young  Hebe  sits  smiling, 

The  wonders  of  youth  to  portray, 

Excluding  old  age  from  defiling 

The  lads  and  the  lassies  of  May. 

Call  by,  little  stranger,  one  minute, 
Your  joy  will  reward  your  delay; 

Come,  feast  with  the  lark  and  the  linnet, 
And  drink  of  the  waters  of  May. 

Walk  in,  little  mistress,  be  steady, 
You  'r  welcome  a  visit  to  pay; 

Ail  things  in  the  chamber  are  ready, 
Resolve  to  be  married  in  May. 


25 


A  DIRGE. 

§      ,..  rv    ;  >      ,:j:4-.    <«£ 

Deserted  of  her  Spouse,,,  she  eat  lamenting  m  th© 

chamber. 

liast  thou  gone  and  left  me,  ....* 
Void  of  faults  but.strictly  true  ? 

Fly  far  away  . 
.?  ,    Without  delay,  ,  / 
Adieu,  my  love,  adieu. 

Hast  thou  gone  and  left  me,    ? 
Hence  to  seek  another  bride  ? 

I  must  be  still, 

Thou  hast  thy  will,      , 
'the  world  is  free  and  wide 

Qnlyjiadst  thou  told  me  .: 
Ere  I  drunk  the  bitter  cup, 

I  could  with  shame,  . 

N  o w  b ear  the  blame, 
And  freely  give  thee  up. 

But  I'm  left  to  ponder,      „  ..  :?>.  , 

Now  in  the  depth  of  sorrow's  gloom, 

Like  some  dull  sprite, 

In  dead  of  night, 
Bewailing  o'er  her  tQmb. 


26 

Swiftly  fly  and  welcome; 

It  is  the  fate  of  fools  to  rove  y 

With  whom  1  know 

Wedlock  is  wo 
Without  the  stream  of  love. 

Where  constant  love  is  wanting-, 
Pleasure  has  not  long  to  dwell ; 

I  view  my  fate, 

Alas,  too  late  I 
So  partner,  fare  thee  wellV 

But,  my  love,  remember, 
Hence  we  meet  and  face  to  face, 
Thy  heart  shall  ache, 
Thy  soul  shall  quake, 
The  wretch  of  all  disgrace. 


DEATH  OF  A  FAVORITE  CHAMBER  MA* 

O  death,  thy  power  I  own, 
Whose  mission  was  to  rush, 

And  snatch  the  rose,  so  quickly  blown, 
Down  from  its  native  bush; 

The  flower  of  beauty  doom'd  to  pine, 

Ascends  from  this  to  worlds  divine. 


27 

Death  is  a  joyful  doom, 

Let  tears  of  sorrow  dry, 
The  rose  on  earth  but  fades  to  bloom 

And  blossom  in  the  sky. 
Why  should  the  soul  resist  the  hand 
That  bears  her  to  celestial  land. 

Then,  bonny  bird,  farewell, 
Till  hence  we  meet  again  % 

Perhaps  I  have  not  long  to  dwell 
Within  this  cumb'rous  chain, 

Till  on  elysian  shores  we  meef, 

Till  grief  is  lost  and  joy  complete. 


THE  FEARFUL  TRAVELLER  IN  THE/ 
HAUNTED  CASTLE. 

Oft  do  f  hear  tlxose  windows  ope 
And  shut  with  dread  surprise, 

And  spirits  murmur  as  they  grope,' 
But  break  not  on  the  eyes. 

Still  fancy  spies  the  winding  sheet,' 
The  phantom  and  the  shroud; 

And  bids  the  pulse  of  horror  beat 
Throughout  my  ears  aloud. 


58 

$ome  unknown  finger  thumps  the  door, 
...  From  one  of  faltering  voice, 
Till  some  one  seems  to  walk  the  floor 
With  an  alarming  noise. 

The  drum  of  horror  holds  her  sound,' 

,  Which  will  not  let  me  sleep, 
When  ghastly  breezes  float  around, 
And  hidden  goblins  creep. 

M ethinks  I  hear  some  constant  groan,"' 

The  din  of  all  the  dead, 
While  trembling  thus  I  lie  alone, 

Upon  this  restless  bed. 

At  length  the  blaze  of  morning  broke 

On  my, impatient  view,  _  .. 
And  truth  or  fancy  told  the  joke, 

And  bade  the  night  adieu *; 

'Twas  but  the  noise  of  prowling  rats,' 
.,  Which  ran  with  all  their  speed, 
Pursued  in  haste  by  hungry  cats," 
Which  on  the  vermin  feed. 

The  cat  growl'd  as  she  held  her  prey, 
Which  shriek'd  with  all  its  might, 

And  drove  the- balm  of  sleep  away 
Throughout  the  'live-long  night. 


20 

*Those  creatures  crumbling  off  the  cheese 

Which  on  the  table  lay; 
Some  cats,  too  quick  the  rogues  to  seize, 

With  rumblingjost  their  prey. 

Thus  man  is  often  his  own  elf, 
.Who  makes  the  night  his  ghost, 

And  shrinks  with  horror  from  himself, 
uWhich  is  to  fear  the  most. 

TO  CATHARINE. 
J'll  love  thee  as  Jong  as . I  live, 
Whate'er  thy  condition  may  be  ; 
All  else  but  my  life  would  I  give, 
That  thou  wast  as  partial  to  me. 

JL  love  jthee  because  thou  art  fair, 
And  fancy  no  other  beside  ; 
J  languish  thy  pleasures  to  share, 
JVhatever  my  life  may  betide. 

y\l  love  thee  when  youth's  vital  beam 
Grows  dim  on  the  visage  of  cares; 
And  trace  back  on  time's  rapid  stream, 
Thy  beauty  when  sinking  in  years, 

rThough  nature  no  longer  is  gay, 
.With  blooms  which  the  simple  adore. 


20 

Let  virtue  forbid  me  to  say. 
That  Cath'rine  is  lovely  no  more. 


THE  SWAN— VAIN  PLEASURES. 

The  Svyan  which  boasted  mid  the  tide, 
Whose  nest  was  guarded  by  the  wave,   . 
Floated  for  pleasure  till  she  died, 
And  sunk  beneath  the  flood  to  lave. 

The  bird  of  fashion  drops  her  wing1, 
The  rose-bush  now  declines  to  bloom; 
-The  gentle  breezes  of  the  spring 
No  longer  waft  a  sweet  perfume. 

Fair  beauty  with  tlmse  lovely  eyes.? 
Withers  along  her  vital  stream; 
Proud  fortune  leaves  her  throne,  and  flies 
From  pleasure,  as  a  flattering  dream. 

The  eagle  of  exalted  fame, 
Which  spreads  his  pinions  far  to  sail, 
Struggled  to  fan  his  dying  flame, 
Till  pleasure  palPd  in  every  gale. 

And  gaudy  mammon,  sordid  gain, 
Whose  plume  has  faded,  once  so  gay, 


31 

Languishes  mid  her  flowery  train. 
Whilst  pleasure  flies  like  fumes  away. 

Vain  pleasures,  O  how  short  to  last ! 
Like  leaves  which  quick  to  ashes  burn; 
Which  kindle  from  the  slightest  blast, 
And  slight  to  nothing  hence  return. 


THE  POWERS  OF  LOVE. 

It  lifts  the  poor  man  from  his  cell 

To  fortune's  bright  alcove  ; 
Its  mighty  sway  few,  few  can  tell, 
Mid  envious  foes  it  conquers  ill; 
There's  nothing  half  like  love. 

Ye  weary  strangers,  void  of  rest, 

Who  late  through  life  have  strove, 
Like  the  late  bird  which  seeks  its  nest, 
If  you  would  hence  in  truth  be  blest, 
Light  on  the  bough  of  lovo. 

The  vagrant  plebeian,  void  of  friends, 
Constrain'd  through  wilds  to  rove, 
On  this  his  safety  whole  depends, 
One  faithful  smile  his  trouble  ends, 
A  smile  of  constant  love. 


If 

JThus  did  a  captured  wretch  complain, 
'    Imploring  Jieaven  above, 
Till  one  with  sympathetic  pain, 
Flew  to  his  arms  and  broke  the  chain, 
-    And  grief  took  flight  from  love;     K 

jLet  clouds  of  danger  rise  and  roar, 

And  hope's  firm  pillars  move  ; 
With  storms  behind  and  death  before, 
O  grant  me  this,  I  crave  rto  more,     *■ 
There's  nothing  half  like  love.' 

When  nature  wakes  soft  pity's  coo 

The  hawk  deserts  the  dove, 
Compassion  melts  the  creature  throughs 
"With  palpitations  felt  by  few,  :*' 

;   The  wrecking  throbs  of  love. 

Xet  surly  discord  take  its  flight 

From  wedlock's  peaceful  grove, 
While  Union  breaks'  the  arm  of  fight, 
With  darkness  swallow'd  up  in  light, 
O  what  is  there  like  love. 


TO  A  DEPARTING  FAVORITE. 

Thon  mayst  retire,  but  think  of  me 
r  lyhen  thou  art  gone  afar, 


1? 

JVhere'er  in  life  thy  travels  be, 
If  tost  along  the  brackish  sea, 
h  Qr  borne  upon  the  car. 

Thou  mayst  retire,  I  care  not  where, 
*    .Thy  name  my  theme  shall  be; 
With  thee  in  heart  I  shall  be  there, 
Content  thy  good  or  ill  to  share,    * 
If  dead*  to  lodge  with  thee. 

Thou  mayst  retire  beyond  the  4eep, 

And  leave  thy  sister  train, 
To  roam  the  wilds  where  dangers  sleep, 
And  leave  affection  sad  to  weep 

In  bitterness  and  pain. 

g  i   fi»  ..    :?v.     .*  .         r 

Thou  mayst  retire,  and  yet  be  glad 

To  leave  me  thus  alone, 
Lamenting  and  bewailing  sad; 
^Farewell,  thy  sunk  deluded  lad 

May  rise  when  thou  art  gone. 


THE  TRAVELLER. 
'Tis  sweet  to  think  of  home. 


When  from  my  native  clime, 
Mfd  lonely  vallies  pensive  far  J  roam9 


34 

Mid  rocks  and  hills  where  waters  roll  sublime, 
'Tis  sweet  to  think  of  home. 

My  retrospective  gaze 
Bounds  on  a  dark  horizon  far  behind, 
•But  yet  the  stars  of  homely  pleasures  blaze 

And  glimmer  on  my  mind. 

When  pealing  thunders  roll, 
^Lnd  ruffian  winds  howl,  threat'ning  life  with 

gloom, 
•To  Heaven's  kind  hand  I  then  commit  the 
whole, 
And  smile  to  think  of  home. 

But  cease,  my  pensive  soul, 
To  languish  at  departure's  gloomy  shrine; 
Still  look  in  front  and  hail  the  joyful  goal, 

The  pleasure  teeming  line. 

When  on  the  deep  wide  sea 
1  wander,  sailing  mid  the  swelling  foam, 
Tost  from  the  land  by  many  a  long  degree, 

O,  then  I  think  of  thee. 

I  never  shall  forget 
The  by-gone  pleasures  of  my  native  shore, 
Until  the  sun  of  life  forbears  to  set, 

And  pain  is  known  no  more. 


65 

W<hen  nature  seems  to  weep, 
And  life  hangs  trembling  o'er  the  watery  tomb, 
Hope  lifts  her  peaceful  sail  to  brave  the  deep, 

And  bids  me  think  of  home. 

My  favorite  pigeon  rest, 
Nor  on  the  plane  of  sorrow  drop  thy  train, 
But  on  the  bongh  of  h.ope  erect  thy  nest, 

Till  friends  shall  meet  again. 

Though  in  the  hermit's  cell, 
Where  eager  friends  to  cheer  me  fail  to  come, 
Where  Zeph'rus  seems  a  joyless,  tale  to  tell, 

No  thought  js  sweet  but  home. 


RECENT  APPEARANCE  OF  A  LADY. 

The  joy  of  meeting  one  so  fair, 

Inspires  the  present  stream  of  song ; 
A  bonny  belle, 
That  few  excell, 
And  one  with  whom  I  few  compare, 
Though  out  of  sight  so  long. 

It  is  a  cause  of  much  delight, 

When  lads  and  lasses  meet  again; 
But,  bonny  belle, 
No  long  to  dwell, 


jFor  soon,  upon  the  wing  of  flight, 
We  haste  away  in  pain. 

That  long  hid  form  J  smile  to  trace, 
A  star  emerging  out  of  gloom, 
Exal tea*  belle, 
Whose  powers  impel!, 
And  draw  the  heart  by  every  grace, 
The  queen  of  every  bloom. 

Jiong  out  of  sight,  but  still  in  mind, 
Eternal  mem'ry  holds  its  grasp," 
Still,  bonny  belle, 
'Tis  sweet  to  telj. 
Of  thee,  when  I  am  left  behind 
Jn  sorrow's  lonely  clasp. 


MEDITATION  ON  A  COLD,  DARK,  AND 
RAINY  NIGHT. 

Sweet  on  the  house  top  falls  the  gentle  shower, 
When  "jet"  bjack  darkness  crowns  the  silent 

hour, 
When  shrill  the  owlet  pours  her  hollow  tone, 
Like  some  lost  child  sequester'd  and  alone, 
When  Will's  bewildering  wisp  begins  to  flare, 
And  Philomela  breathes  her  dulcet  air, 


37 

?Xis  sweet  to  listen  to  her  nightly  tune, 
Deprived  of  star-light  or  the  smiling  moon.    ■ 
"When  deadly  winds  sweep  round  the  rural 

shed, 
And  tell  of  strangers  lpst,  without  a  bed,". 
Fond  sympathy  invokes  her  dol  rous  lay, 
And  pleasure  steals  in  sorrow's  gloom  away, 
Till  fost'ring  Somnus  bids  my  eyes  to  close, 
And  smiling  visions  open  to  repose; 
Still  on  my  soothipg  couch  I  lie  at  ease, 
Still  round  my  chamber  flows  the  whistling 

breeze,  Wk 

Still  in  the  chain  of  sleep  I  lie  confined,, 
To  all  the  threat' ning. ills  of  life  resign'd, 
Regardless  of  the  wand' ring  elfe  of  night* 
While  phantoms  break  on  my  immortal  sights 
The  trump  of  morning  bids  my  slumbers  end, 
While  from  a  flood  of  rest  I  straight  ascend, 
When  on  a  busy  world  I  cast  my  eyes, 
And  think  of  nightly  slumbers  with  surprise. 


ON  AN  OLD  DELUDED^  SUITOR^ 

See  sad  deluded  love,  in  years  too  late, 
With  tears  desponding  o'er  the  tomb  of  fate, 
\yhile  dusky  evening's  veil  excludes  the  light 
Which  in  the  morning'  broke  upon  his  sight. 


38 

Me  now  regrets  his  vain,  his  fruitless  plan/ 
And  sadly  wonders  at  the  faults  of  man. 
'Tis  now  from  beauty's  torch  he  wheels  aside, 
And  strives  to  soar  above  affection's  tide; 
'Tis  now  that  sorrow  feeds  the  worm  of  pairr 
With  tears  which  never  can  the  loss  regain; 
'Tis  now  he  drinks  the  wormwood  and  the" 

gall, 
And  all  the  sweets  of  early  pleasures  pall,' 
When  from  his  breast  the  hope  of  fortune  flies, 
The  songs  of  transport  languish  into  sighs; 
nd,  lovely  rose,  that  beamed  as  she  blew, 
all  the  charms  of  youth  the  most  untrue, 
She,  with  delusive  smiles,  prevail'd  to  move 
This  silry  heart"  into  the  snare  of  love  f 
Then  like  a  flower  closed  against  thtf  beey 
Folds  her  arms  and  turns  her  back  on  me. 
When  on  my  fancy's  eye  her  smiles  she  shed, 
The  torch  by  which  deluded  love  was  led, 
Then,  like  a  lark,  from  boyhood's  maze  I 

soar'd, 
And  thus  in  song  her  flattering  smiles  adored. 
My  heart  was  then  by  fondling  love  betray'd, 
A  thousand  pleasures  bloom'd  but  soon  to' 

fade, 
From  joy  to  joy  my  heart  exulting  flew, 
In  quest  of  one,  though  fair,  yet  far  from  true. 


39 
THE   WOODMAN   AND   MONEY  HUNTER, 

Throughout  our  rambles  much  we  find  ,* 
The  bee  trees  burst  with  honey ; 

Wild  birds  we  tame  of  every  kind, 

At  once  they  seem  to  be  resign'd; 

I  know  but  one  that  lags  behind, 
There's  nothing  lags  but  money. 

The  woods  afford  us  much  supply, 
The  opossum,  coon,  and  coney  ; 

They  all'  are"  tame  and  venture  nigh, 

Regardless  of  the  public  eye, 

I  know  but  one  among  them  shy, 
There's  nothing  shy  but  money. 

And  she  lies  in  the  bankrupt  shade,' 

The  cunning  fox  is  funny ; 
When  thus  the  public  debts  are  paid', 
Deceitful  cash  is  not  afraid, 
"Where  funds  are  hid  for  private  trade, 

There's  nothing  paid  but  money. 

Then  let  us  roam  the  woods  along^ 
And  drive  the  coon  and  coney  ;' 

Our  lead  is  good,  our  powder  strong,    . 

To  shoot  the  pigeons  as  they  throng, 

But  sing  no  more  the  idle  song, 
Nor  prowl  the  chase  for  money. 


40 

THE  EYE  OF  LOVE. 

I 
I  know  her  story-telling  eye 

Has  more  expression  than  her  tongue; 
And  from  that  heart-extorted  sigh, 

At  once  the  peal  of  love  is  rung. 

When  that  soft  eye  lets  fall  a  tear 
.^  Of  doating  fondness  as  we  part, 
The  stream  is  from  a  cause  sincere, 

And  issues  from  a  melting  heart. 
j  ....'.;•...„-.'  ■"■ 

"What  shall  her  fluttering  pulse  restrain,! 
*  The  life-watch  beating  from  her  soul, 
When  all  the  power  of  hate  is  slain, 

And  love  permits  it  no  control. 

When  said  her  tongue,  I  wish  thee  well, 
Her  eye  declared  it  must  be  true ; 

And  every,  sentence  seem'd  to  tell 
The  tale  of  sorrow  told  by  few. 

When  low  she  bow'd  and  wheel'd  aside, 
I  saw  her  blushing  temples  fade; 

Her  smiles  were  sunk  in  sorrow's  tide, 
But  love  was  in  her  eye  betrayM, 


41 

THE  SETTING  SUN. 

*Tis  sweet  to  trace  the  setting  sun 
Wheel  blushing  down  the  west ; 
When  his  diurnal  race  is  run, 
The  traveller  stops  the  gloom  to  shun, 
And  lodge  his  bones  to  rest. 

Far  from  the  eye  he  sinks  apace, 

But  still  throws  back  his  light 
From  oceans  of  resplendant  grace, 
Whence  sleeping  vesper  paints  her  face, 

And  bids  the  sun  good  night." 

To  those  hesperian  fields  by  night 

My  thoughts  in  vision  stray, 
Like  spirits  stealing  into  light, 
From  gloom  upon  the  Wing  of  flight, 

Soaring  from  time  away. 

Our  eagle,  with  his  pinions  furl'd, 

Takes  his  departing  peep, 
And  hails  the  occidental  world, 
Swift  round  whose  base  the  globes  are  whirl'd, 

Whilst  weary  creatures  sleep. 


42 

■Fee  rising  fcufcr. 

The  king  of  day  rides  on, 

To  give  the  placid  morning  birth; 
On  wheels  of  glory  moves  his  throne* 

Whose  light  adorns  the  eaarth. 

When  once?  his  limpid  mart! 

Has  the  imperial  course  begun, 
The  lark  deserts  the  dusky  glader 

And  soars  to  meet  the  sun* 

Vp  from  the  orient  deep, 

Aurora  mounts  without  delay, 

With  brooms  of  light  the  plains  to  sweep. 
And  purge  the  gloom  away. 

Ye  ghostly  scenes  give  wayv 

Our  king  is  coming  now  in  sight. 

Bearing  the  diadem  of  day, 
Whose  crest  expels  the  night; 

Thus  we,  tike  birds,  retreat 

To  groves,  and  hide  from  ev'ry  eye; 
Our  slumbering  dust  will  rise  and  meet 

Its  morning  in  the  sky. 

The  immaterial  sun, 

Now  hid  within  empyieal  gloom; 


43 


Will  break  forth  on  a  brighter  throne* 
And  call  us  from  the  tomb. 


MEMORY. 


Sweet  memory,  like  a  pleasing  dream, 
Still  lends  a  dull  and  feeble  ray ; 

For  ages  with  her  vestige  teems, 
When  beauty's  trace  is  worn  away. 

When  pleasure,  with  her  harps  unstrung* 
Sits  silent  to  be  heard  no  more, 

Or  leaves  them  on  the  willows  hung, 
And  pass-time  glee  forever  o'er ; 

Still  back  in  smiles  thy  glory  steals 
With  ev'ningdew  drops  from  thine  eye; 

The  twilight  bursting  from  thy  wheels, 
Ascends  and  bids  oblivion  fly. 

Memory,  thy  bush  prevails  to  bloom, 
Design'd  to  fade,  no,  never,  never* 

Will  stamp  thy  vestige  on  the  tomb, 
And  bid  th'  immortal  live  forever. 

When  youth's  bright  sun  has  once  declined 
And  bid  his  smiling  day  expire, 


44 


Mem'ry,  thy  torch  steals  up  behind, 
And  sets  thy  hidden  stars  on  fire. 


PROSPERITY. 

Come,  thou  queen  of  every  creature, 
Nature  calls  thee  to  her  arms  j 

Love  sits  gay  on  every  feature, 
Teeming  with  a  thousand  charms. 

Meet  me  mid  the  wreathing  bowers, 
Greet  me  in  the  citron  grove, 

"Where  I  saw  the  belle  of  flowers 
Dealing  with  the  blooms  of  love. 

Hark!  the  lowly  dove  of  Sharon, 
Bids  thee  rise  and  come  away, 

From  a  vale  both  dry  and  barren, 
Come  to  one  where  life  is  gay. 

Come,  thou  queen  of  all  the  forest, 
Fair  Feroma,  mountain  glee, 

Lovelier  than  the  garden  florist. 
Or  the  goddess  of  the  bee. 

Come,  Sterculus,  and  with  pleasure, 
Fertilize  the  teeming  field  ; 


45 

From  thy  straw,  dissolved  at  leisure, 
Bid  the  lea  her  bounty  yield. 

Come,  thou  queen  of  every  creature, 
Nature  calls  thee  to  her  arms  ; 

Love  sits  gay  on  every  feature, 
Teeming  with  a  thousand  charms. 


DEATH  OF  GEN.  JACKSON— AN  EULOGY. 

Hark!  from  the  mighty  Hero's  tomb, 

I  hear  a  voice  proclaim  ! 
A  sound  which  fills  the  world  with  gloom, 

But  magnifies  his  name. 

JJis  flight  from  time  let  braves  deplore, 

And  wail  from  state  to  state, 
And  sound  abroad  from  shore  to  shore, 

The  death  of  one  so  great ! 

He  scorn'd  to  live  a  captured  slave, 
And  fought  his  passage  through  ; 

He  dies,  the  prince  of  all  the  brave, 
And  bids  the  world  adieu  ! 

Sing  to  the  mem'ry  of  his  power. 
Ye  vagrant  mountaineers. 


45 

Ye  rustic  peasants  drop  a  shower 
Of  love  for  him  in  tears. 

He  wields  the  glittering  sword  no  more, 
With  that  transpiercing  eye  ; 

Ceases  to  roam  the  mountain  o'er. 
And  gets  him  down  to  die  ! 

Still  let  the  nation  spread  his  fame, 
While  marching  from  his  tomb ; 

Aloud  let  all  the  world  proclaim, 
Jackson,  forever  bloom. 

No  longer  to  the  world  confm'd, 

He  goes  down  like  a  star  ; 
He  sets,  and  leaves  his  friends  behind 

To  rein  the  steed  of  war. 

Hark!  from  the  mighty  Hero's  tomb, 

1  hear  a  voice  proclaim  ! 
A  sound  which  fills  the  world  with  gloom, 

But  magnifies  his  name  ! 


MR.  CLAY'S  RECEPTION  AT  RALEIGH, 

April,  1844. 

Salute  the  august  train  t  a  scene  so  grand, 
With  kvery  tuneful  baud  \ 


It 

The  mighty  brave, 
His  country  bound  to  save, 
Extends  his  aiding  hand  ; 
For  joy  his  vofries  hoop  and  stamp,. 
Excited  by  the  blaze  of  pomp  ! 
Let  ev'ry  eye 
the  scene  descry, 
The  sons  of  freedom's  land. 

They  look  ten  thousand  stars t  lamp  tumbler 
blaze, 
To  give  the  Hero  praise  I 
Immortal  Clay, 
The  cause  is  to  pourtray  J 
Your  tuneful  voices  raise  j 
The  lights  of  our  Columbian  sun, 
Break  from  his  patriotic  throne ; 
Let  all  admire 
The  faithful  sire, 
The  chief  musician  plays* 

Ye  bustling  crowds  give  way,  proclaims  th# 
drum, 
And  give  the  Patriot  room  ; 
The  cannon's  sound, 
The  blast  of  trumpets  bound, 
Be  this  our  father's  home  ; 
Haw  let  the  best  musician  playj 


48 

A  skillful  tune  for  Henry  Clay  ! 
Let  every  ear 
With  transport  hear ! 
The  President  is  come. 

Let  sister  states  greet  the  Columbian  feast, 
With  each  admiring  guest ; 
Thou  art  our  choice  ! 
Let  ev'ry  joyful  voice, 
Sound  from  the  east  to  west ; 
Let  haughty  Albion's  lion  roar, 
The  eagle  must  prevail  to  soar ; 
And  in  lovely  form, 
Above  the  storm, 
Erect  her  peaceful  nest. 

Beyond  each  proud  empire  she  throws  her 
eye ! 
"Which  lifted  to  the  sky, 
No  thunders  roll, 
To  agitate  her  soul, 
Beneath  her  feet  they  fly  ! 
Let  skillful  fingers  sweep  the  lyre, 
Strike  ev'ry  ear !  set  hearts  on  fire ! 
Let  monarchs  sleep 
Beyond  the  deep, 
And  howling  faction  die. 


49 

Nor  h*nee  forget  tta  tesne  applauding  &*$% 
When  every  heart  was  g-ay ; 
The  universal  swell 
Rnsh'd  from  the  loud  to"wn  bell '; 
tn  awful,  grand  array* 
We  see  them  form  the  bright  parade  ; 
And  hark,  a  gladdening  march  is  play'd ! 
Along  the  street, 
The  theme  is  sweet, 
For  every  voice  is  Clay. 

To  the  Capitol  the  low  and  upland  peers* 
Resort  with  princely  fears, 
And  homage  pay  * 
A  loud  huzza  for  Clay  ! 
Falls  on  our  ears  ; 
Loud  from  his  lips  the  thunders  roll* 
And  fill  with  wonder  every  soul ; 
Round  the  sire  of  state 
All  concentrate, 
And  W&¥f  mortal  hears. 

CLAY'S  DEFEAT. 

'Tis  the  hope  of  the  noble  defeated  ; 

The  aim  of  the  marksman  is  vain; 
The  wish  of  destruction  completed, 

The  soldier  eternally  slain; 


50 

When  winter  succeeds  to  ihe  smnme'rv 
The  bird  is  too  chilly  to  sing  ; 

No  music  is  play'd  for  the  drummer, 
No  carol  is  heard  on  the  wing. 

The  court  of  n.  nation  forsaken, 
An  edifice  stripn'd  of  its  dome, 

Its  fame  from  her  pinnacle  shaken, 

Like  the  sigh  heaving  downfall  of  Rome. 

Fali'b,  fall'n  is  the  chief  of  the  witty, 
The  prince  of  republican  power  ; 

The  star-crown  of  Washington  City 
Descends  his  political  tower.  * 

The  gold-plated  seat  is  bespoken, 
The  brave  of  the  west  is  before"; 

The  bowl  at  the  fountain  is  broken, 
The  music  of  fame  is  no  more. 

No  longer  a  wonderful  story 

Is  told  for  the  brave  whig  to  hear, 

Whose  sun  leaves  his  circuit  of  glory, 
Or  sinks  from  the  light  of  his  sphere. 


51 
THE  HAPPY  BIRD'S  NEST. 

When  on  my  cottage  falls  the  placid  shower, 
When  ev'ning  calls  the  labourer  home  to 
rest, 

When  glad  the  bee  deserts  the  humid  flower, 
O  then  the  bird  assumes  her  peaceful  nest. 

When  sable  shadows  grow  unshapely  tall, 
And  Sol's  resplendent  wheel  descends  the 
•west, 

The  knell  of  respiration  tolls  for  all, 

And  Hespar  smiles  upon  the  linnet's  nest. 

When  o'er  the  mountain  bounds  the  fair  g'a- 
zell, 
The  night  bird  tells  her  day-departing  jest, 
She  gladly  leaves  her  melancholy  dell, 
And  spreads  her  pinions  o'er  the  linnet's 
nest. 

Then  harmless  Diaii  spreads  her  lucid  sail, 
And  glides  through  ether  with  her  silver 
crest, 

Bidding  the  watchful  bird  still  pour  her  tale, 
And  cheer  the  happy  linnet  on  her  nest. 

Thus  may  some  guardian  angel  bear  her  light, 
And  o'er  thy  tomb,  departed  genius,  rest, 


52 

Whilst  thou  *halt  take  thy  long  eternal  flight, 
And  leave  some  faithful  bird  to  guard  thy 
nest. 


THE  FATE  OF  AN  INNOCENT  DOG. 

When  Tiger  left  his  native  yard. 
He  did  not  many  ills  regard, 

A. "fleet  and  harmless  cur  ; 
Indeed,  he  was  a  trusty  dog, 
And  did  not  through  the  pastures  prog* 
The  grazing  flocks  to  stir,  poor  dog, 

The  grazing  flocks  to' stir. 

He  through  a  field  by  chance  was  led* 
In  quest  of  game  not  far  ahead, 

And  made  one  active  leap  ; 
When  all  at  once,  alarm'd,  he  spied, 
A  creature  welt' ring  on  its  side* 
A  deadly  wounded  sheep,  alas  ! 

A  deadly  wounded  sheep. 

He  there  was  fill'd  with  sudden  fear, 
Apprized  of  lurking  danger  near, 

And  there  he  left  his  trail ; 
Indeed,  he  was  afraid  to  yelp, 


58 

Nor  could  he  grant  the  creature  help, 
But  wheel' d  and  drop'd  his  tail,  poor  dog, 
But  wheel' d  and  drop'd  his  tail. 

It  was  his  pass-time,  pride  and  fun, 
At  morn  the  nimble  hare  to  run, 

When  frost  was  on  the  grass  ; 
Returning  home  who  should  he  meet  ? 
The  weather's  owner,  coming  fleet, 
Who  scorn'd  to  let  him  pass,  alas  ! 

Who  scorn'd  to  let  him  pass. 

Tiger  could  but  his  bristles  raise, 
A  surly  compliment  he  pays, 

Insulted  shows  his  wrath  ; 
Returns  a  just  defensive  growl, 
And  does  not  turn  aside  to  prowl, 
But  onward  keeps  the  path,  poor  dog, 

But  onward  keeps  the  path. 

The  raging  owner' found  the  brute, 
But  could  afford  it  no  recruit, 

Nor  raise  it  up  to  stand  ; 
'Twas  mangled  by  some  other  dogs, 
A  set  of  detrimental  rogues, 
Raised  up~at  no  eommand,"alas  ! 

Raised  up  at  no  command. 


Sagacious  Tiger  left  his  bogs, 
But  bore  the  blame  of  other  dogs, 

With  powder,  fire  and  ball  ; 
They  kilPd  the  poor,  unlawful  game, 
And  then  came  back  and  eat  the  same  ; 
But  Tiger  paid  for  fell,  poor  dog, 

But  Tiger  paid  for  all. 

Let  ev'ry  harmless  dog  beware 
Lest  he  be  taken  in  the  snare, 

And  scorn  such  fields  to  roam  ; 
A  creature  may  be  fraught  with  grace, 
And  suffer  for  the  vile  and  base, 
By  straggling  off  from  home,  alas! 

By  straggling  off  from  home. 

The  blood  of  creatures  oft  is  spilt, 
Who  die  without  a  shade  of  guilt; 

Look  out,  or  cease  to  roam  ; 
Whilst  up  and  down  the  world  he  plays 
For  pleasure,  man  in  danger  strays 
Without  a  friend  from  home,  alas  ! 

Without  a  friend  from  home. 


5S 

THE  TIPLER  TO  HIS  BOTTLE. 

What  hast  thou  ever  done  for  me? 

Defeated  every  good  endeavor; 
I  never  can  through  life  agree 
To  place  my  confidence  in  thee, 

JNot  ever,  no,  never! 

Often  have  I  thy  steam  admired, 

Thou  nothing  hast  avail'd  me  ever; 
Vain  have  I  tliought  myself  inspired, 
Say,  have  1  else  but  pain  acquired? 
Not  ever,  no,  never! 

No  earthly  good,  no  stream  of  health, 

Flows  from  thy  fount,  thou  cheerful  giver; 
From  thee,  affluence  sinks  to  stealth, 
From  thee  I  pluck  no  bloom  of  health, 
Whatever,  no,  never ! 

Thou  canst  impart  a  noble  mind, 

Power  from  my  tongue  flows  like  a  river; 
The  gas  flows  dead,  I'm  left  behind, 
To  all  that's  evil  down  confined, 
To  flourish  more  never! 

With  thee  I  must  through  life  complain, 
Thy  powers  at  large  will  union  sever; 


Disgorge  no  more,  thy  killing  bane, 
The.  bird  hope  flies  from  thee  in  pain. 
To  return  more  never! 


ROSABELLA— PURITY  OF  HEART, 

Though  with  an  angel's  tonguo 

I  set  on  fire  the  congregations  all, 
*Tis  but  a  brazen  bell  that  I  have "rung* 
And  I  to  nothing  fall; 

My  theme  is  but  an  idle  air 
If  Rosabella  is  not  there, 

though  I  in  thunders  rave, 

And  hurl  the  blaze  of  oratorio  flowers, 
Others  I  move,  but  fail  myself  to  save 
With  my  declaiming  powers; 
I  sink,  alas!  Ijknow  not  where, 
If  Rosabella  is  not  there. 

Though  J  poirlt  o&t  the  way, 

And  closely  circumscribe  the  path  to  heaven, 
And  pour  my  melting  prayer  without  delay, 
And  vow  my  sins  forgiven, 
I  sink^into  the  gloom  despair 
f(  Rosabella  is  not  there, 


V7 

Though  I  may  mountains  more, 

And  make  tbe  vallies  vocal  with  my  song, 
I'm  vain  without  a  stream  of  mystic  love, 
For  alt  my  heart  is  wrong; 
I've  laid  myself  a  cruel  snare, 
If  Iiosabella  is  not  there. 

From  bibliothic  stores, 

I  fly,  proclaiming  heaven  from  land  to  land, 
Or  cross  the  seas  and  reach  their  distant  shores. 
Mid  Gothic  groups  to  stand; 
O,  let  me  of  myself  beware, 
If  Rosabella  is  not  there. 

Our  classic  books  must  fail, 

And  with  their  flowery  tongue*  to  ashes 
burn, 
And  not  one  groat  a  mortal  wit  avail 
Upon  his  last  return; 

Be  this  the  creature's  faithful  prayer, 
That  Rosabella  may  be  there. 

This  spotless  maid  was  born 

The  babe  of  heaven,  and  cannot  be  defiled; 
The  soul  is  dead  and  in  a  state  forlorn 
On  which  she  has  not  smiled; 
Vain  are  the  virile  and  the  fair* 
Jf  Rosabella  be  not  there. 


When  other  pleasures  tire, 

And  mortal  glories  fade  to  glow  ho  more, 
She  with  the  wing  of  truth  augments  her  fire, 
And  still  prevails  to  soar; 
All  else  must  die,  the  good  and  wise, 
But  Rosabella  never  dies. 


FALSE  WEIGHT. 

The  poor  countryman  to  a  fraudulent  lady  profess- 
ing fright  Christianity. 

If  thou  art  fair,  deal,  lady,  fair, 

And  let  the  scales  be  oven; 
Forbid  the  poising  beam  to  rear, 

And  pull  thee  down  from  heaven. 

Dost  thou  desire  to  die  in  peace, 

For  ev'ry  sin  forgiven, 
Give  back  my  right,  thy  weight  decrease, 

And  mount  like  mine  to  heaven. 

Itathcr  give  over  to  the  poor, 

Take  ten  and  give  eleven ; 
Or  else  be  fair,  I  ask  no  more, 

'Tis  all  required  of  heaven. 

And  when  on  thee  for  pay  I  call, 
Which  is  but  four  for  seven, 


59 

Keep  nothing  back,  but  pay  it  all, 
It  is  not  hid  from  heaven. 

Remember  hence  the  sentence  past, 

The  truth  in  scripture  given, 
Last  shall  be  first,  and  first  be  last, 


DEPARTING  SUMMED. 

When  auburn  Autumn  mounts  the  stage, 
And  Summer  fails  her  charms  to  yield, 

Bleak  nature  turns  another  page, 
To  light  the  glories  of  the  field. 

At  once  the  vale  declines  to  bloom, 
The  forest  smiles  no  longer  gay; 

Gardens  are  left  without  perfume, 
The  rose  and  1  Illy  pine  away. 

The  orchard  bows  her  fruitless  head, 

As  one  divested  of  her  store; 
Or  like  a  queen  whose  train  hashed, 

And  left  her  sad  to  smile  no  more. 

That  bird  which  breath'd  her  vernal  song, 
And  hopp'd  along  the  flow'ry  spray, 


60 

Now  silent  holds  her  warbling  tongue, 
Which  dulcifies  the  feast  of  May. 

But  let  each  bitter  have  its  sweet, 
No  change  of  nature  is  in  vain ; 

'Tis  just  alternate  cold  and  heat, 

For  time  is  pleasure  mix'd  with  pain. 


REFLECTIONS  FROM  THE  FLASH  OF  A 
METEOR. 

Psalm  xc.  12. 

So  teach  me  to  regard  my  day, 

How  small  a  point  my  life  appears  ; 

One  gleam  to  death  the  whole  betrays, 
A  momentary  flash  of  years. 

One  moment  smiles,  the  scene  is  past, 
Life's  gaudy  bloom  at  once  we  shed, 

And  sink  beneath  affliction's  blast, 
Or  drop  as  soon  among  the  dead. 

Short  is  the  chain  wound  up  at  morn, 
Which  oft  runs  down  and  stops  at  noon; 

Thus  in  a  moment  man  is  born, 
And,  lo!  the  creature  dies  as  soon. 

Life'sjittle  torch  how  soon  forgot, 
Dim  burning  on  its  dreary  shore; 


61 

Just  like  that  star  which  downwards  shot, 
It  glimmers  and  is  seen  no  more. 

Teach  me  to  draw  this  transient  breath, 
With  conscious  awe  my  end  to  prove, 

Early  to  make  my  peace  with  death, 
As  thus  in  haste  from  time  we'move, 

O  heaven,  through  this  murky  vale, 
Direct  me  with  a  burning  pert  ; 

Thus  shall  I  on  a  tuneful  gale 

Fleet  out  my  threescore  years  and  ten. 

TRUE  FRIENDSHIP. 

Friendship,  thou  balm  for  ev'ry  ill, 

I  must  aspire  to  thee; 
Whose  breezes  bid  the  heart  be  still, 
And  render  sweet  the  patient's  pill, 

And  set  the  pris'ner  free. 

Friendship,  it  is  the  softest  soul 

Which  feels' another's  pain; 
And  must  with  equal  sighs  condole, 
While  sympathetic  streamlets  roll* 

Which  nothing  can  restrain* 

Not  to  be  nominated  smart* 
Of  mortals  to  be  seen, 


62 

She  does  not  thus  her  gifts  impart, 
Her  aid  is  from  a  feeling  heart, 
A  principle  within. 

When  the  lone  stranger,  forced  to  ream, 
Comes  shiv'ring  to  her  door, 

At  once  he  finds  a  welcome  home,"*; 

The  torch  of  grace  dispels  his^gloom, 
And  bids  him  grope  no  more. 

Friendship  was  never  known  to  fail 

The  voice  of  need  to  hear, 
When  rainless  ills  onr  peace  assail, 
When  from  our  hearts  she  draws  the  veil, 

And  drys  the  falling  tear. 

When  dogs  and  devils  snarl  and  fight, 

She  hides  and  dwells  alone; 
When  friends  and  kindred  disunite, 
With  pity  she  surveys  the  right, 

And  gives  to  each  his  own. 

Friendship  has  not  a  sister  grace 

Her  wonders  to  exceed ; 
She  is  the  queen  of  all  her  race, 
Whose  charms  the  stoutest  must  embrace 

When  in  (he  vale  of  need. 


03 

Friendship  is  but  the  feeling  sigh. 

The  sympathizing  tear,        • 
Constraint  to  flow  till  others  dry 
Nor  lets  the  needy  soul  pass  by, 
JNor  scorns  to  see  or  hear. 


ON  THE  CONVERSION  OF  A  SISTER. 

"JTis  the  voice  of  my  sister  at  home, 
Resigned  lo  the  treasures  above, 

Inviting  the  strangers  to  come, 
And  feast  at  the  banquet  of  love. 

'Tis  a  spirit  cut  loose  from  its  chain, 
'Tis  the  voice  of  a  culprit  forgiven, 

Restored  from  a  prison  of  pain, 

With  th'  sound  of  a  concert  from  heaven. 

'Tis  a  beam  from  the  regions  of  light, 

A  touch  of  beatific  fire; 
A  spirit  exulting  for  flight, 

With  a  strong  and  impatient  desire. 

'Tis  a  drop  from  the  ocean  of  love, 
A  foretaste  of  pleasures  to  come, 

Distill'd  from  the  fountain  above, 
The  joy  which  awaits  her  at  home. 


<k 


A  BILLET  DOLX 

Dear  Miss  :  Notwithstanding  the  cloud  of 
doubts  which  overshadows  the  mind  of  ador- 
ing fancy,  when  t  trace  that  vermillion  cheek, 
that  sapphire  eye  of  expressive  softness,  and 
that  symmetrical  form  of  grace,  I  am  con- 
strained to  sink  into  a  flood  of  admiration  be* 
neath  those  heavenly  charms.  Though,  dear 
Miss,  it  may  be  useless  to  introduce  a  multi- 
plicity of  blandishments,  which  might  either 
lead  you  into  a  field  of  confusion,  or  absorb 
the  truth  of  affection  in  the  gloom  of  doubts  | 
but  the  bell  of  adulation  may  be  told  from  the 
distance  of  its  echo,  and  cannot  be  heard  far- 
ther than  seen.  Dear  Miss,  whatever  may 
be  the  final  result  of  my  adventurous  progress, 
I  now  feel  a  propensity  to  embark  on  the 
ocean  of  chance,  and  expand  the  sail  of  re- 
solution in  quest  of  the  distant  shore  of  con- 
nubial happiness  with  one  so  truly  lovely. 
Though,  my  dearest,  the  thunders  of  parental 
aversion  may  inflect  the  guardian  index  of  af- 
fection from  its  favorite  star,  the  deviated  nee- 
dle recovers  its  course,  and  still  points  on- 
wards to  its  native  poll.  Though  the  waves 
of  calumny  may  reverberate  the  persevering 
mind  of  the  sailiug  lover,  the  morning  star  of 


65 

hope  directs  him  through  the  gloom  of  trial 
to  the  object  of  his  choice. 

My  brightest  hopes  are  mix'd  with  tears, 

Like  hues  of  light  and  gloom  ; 
As  when  mid  sun -shine  rain  appears, 
Love  rises  with  a  thousand  fears, 

To  pine  and  still  to  bloom. 
When  I  have  told  hi}-  last  fond  tale 

In  lines  of  song  to  thee, 
And  for  departure  spread  my  Fail, 
Say,  lovely  princess,  wilt  thou  fail 

To  drop  a.  tear  for  me? 

O,  princess,  should  my  votive  strain 

Salute  thy  ear  no  more, 
Like  one  deserted  on  the  main, 
I  still  shall  gaze,  alas!  but  vain, 

On  wedlock's  llow'ry  shore. 


TROUBLED   WITH  THE  ITCH,  AND  RUB- 
BING WITH  SULPHUR. 

'Tis  bitter,  vet  'tis  sweet, 

Scratching  effects  but  transient  case  ; 
Pleasure  and  pain  together  meet, 

And  vanish  as  they  please. 


My  rralte,  She  only  balm, 

To  ev'ry  bump  are  oft  applied, 

And  thus  the  rage  will  sweetly  calm 
^Vhich  aggravates  my  hide. 

It  soon  returns'  again ; 

A  frowh  succeeds  to  ev'ry  smile  ; 
Grinning  I  scratch  and  curse  the  pain, 

But  grieve  to  be  so  vile* 

In  fine,  1  know  not  which 

Can  play  the  most  deceitful  gam<?? 
The  devil,  sulphur,  or  the  itch; 

The  three  are  but  the  same. 

The  devil  sows  the  itch, 

/slid  sulphur  has  a  loathsome  smell, 
And  tfrith  my  clothes  as  black  as  pitch, 

I  stink  where'er  I  dwell. 

Excoriated  deep, 

By  friction  play'd  on  ev'ry  part, 
It  oft  deprives  me  of  my  sleep, 

And  plagues  me  to  my  heart. 


67 

EARLY  AFFECTION. 

I  loved  thee  from  the  earliest  dawn, 
When  first  I  saw  thy  beauty's  ray; 

And  will  until  life's  eve  cornea  on, 
And  beauty's  blossom  fades  away; 

And  when  all  thing's  go  well  with  thee^ 

With  smiles  or  tears  remember  me. 

I'll  love  thee  when  thy  morn  is  past 
And  wheedling  galantry  is  o'er. 

When  youth  is  lost  in  age's  blast, 
And  beauty  can  ascend  no  more; 

And  when  life's  journey  ends  with  thee, 

0  then  look  back  and  think  of  me. 

I'll  love  thee  with  a  smile  or  frown, 
JV1  id  sorrow's  gloom  or  pleasure's  light; 

And  when  the  chain  of  life  runs  down, 
Pursue  thy  last  eternal  flight; 

When  thou  hast  spread  thy  wing  to  flee, 

Still,  still  a  moment  wait  for  me. 

1  love  thee  for  those  sparkling  eyes, 

To  which  my  fondness  was  betray 'd, 
Bearing  the  tincture  of  the  skies, 

To  glow  when  other  beauties  fade; 
And  when  they  sink  too  low  to  see, 
Reflect  an  azure  beam  on  me. 


68 

THE  CREDITOR  TO  HIS  PROUD  DEBTOR, 

Ha,  tott'ring-Johny,  strut  and  boast, 
But  think  of  what  your  feathers  cost; 
Your  crowing  days  are  short  at  most, 

You  bloom  but  soon  to  fade; 
Surely  you  could  not  stand  so  wide, 
If  strictly  to  the  bottom  tried, 
The  wind  would  blow  your  plume  aside 
If  half  your  debts  were  paid. 
Then  boast  and  bear  the  crack, 
With  the  sheriff  at  your  back; 
Huzza  for  dandy  Jack, 
My  jolly  fop,  my  Joe, 

The  blue  smoke  from  your  segar  flies, 
Offensive  to  my  nose  and  eyes; 
The  most  of  people  would  be  wise 

Your  presence  to  evade; 
Your  pocket  jingles  loud  with  cash, 
And  tbus  you  cut  a  foppish  dash, 
But,  alas!  dear  boy,  you  would  be  trash, 

If  your  accounts  were  paid. 

Then  boast  and  bear  the  crack,  &c. 

My  duck  bill  boots  would  look  as  bright, 
Had  you  injustice  served  me  right; 


Like  you  I  then  could  step  as  light, 

Before  a  flaunting  maid; 
As  nicely  could  I  clear  my  throat, 
And  to  my  tights  my  eyes  devote; 
But  I'd  leave  you  bare  without  that  coat, 

For  which  you  have  not  paid. 

Then  boast  and  bear  the  crack,  &c. 

I'd  toss  myself  with  a  scornful  air, 

And  to  a  poor  man  pay  no  care; 

I  could  rock  cross-leg'd  on  my  chair 

Within  the  cloister  shade; 
I'd  gird  my  neck  with  a  light  cravat, 
And  creaning  wear  my  bell-crown  hat; 
But  away  my  down  would  fly  at  that, 
If  once  my  debts  were  paid. 
Then  boas!  and  bear  the  crack, 
With  a  sheriff  at  your  back; 
Huzza  for  dandy  Jack, 
My  jolly  fop,  my  Joe. 


REGRET  FOR  THE  DEPARTURE  OF 
FRIENDS. 

As  smoke  from  a  volcano  soars  in  the  air, 
The  soul  of  man  discontent  mounts  from  a 

sigh, 


70 

Exhaled  as  to  heaven  in  mystical  prayeij 
Invoking  that  love  which  forbids  him  to 
die. 

Sweet  hope,  lovely  passion,  my  grief  ever 
ehase, 
And  scatter  the  gloom  which  veils  plea- 
sure's bright  ray, 
O  lend  me  thy  wings,  and  assist  me  to  trace 
The  flight  of  my  fair  one  when  gone  far 
away. 

When  the  dim  star  of  pleasure  sets  glimmer- 
ing alone, 

The  planet  of  beauty  on  life's  dreary  shore, 
And  th'  fair  bird  of  fancy  forever  is  flown, 

On  pinions  of  haste  to  be  heard  of  no  more. 

Hope,  tell  me,  dear  passion,  thou  wilt  not  for- 
get, 
To  flourish  still  sweetly  and  blossom  as 

Expelling  like  morning  the  gloom  of  regret, 
When  the  lark  of  aifection  is  gone  far  away. 

If  hurried  into  some  unchangeable  clime, 
Where  oceans  of  pleasure  continually  roll, 

Far,  far  from  the  limited  borders  of  time, 
With  a  total  division  of  body  and  soul. 


71 

Hope,  tell  me,  cigar  passion,  ifhicb  must  earth 
survive, 
That  love  will  be  sweeter  when  nature  is 
o'er, 
And  still  without  pain  though  eternity  live, 
In  the  triumph  of  pleasure  when  time  is  iiq 
more. 

O  love,  when  the  day-light  of  pleasure  shall 
close, 
Let  the  vesper  of  death  break  on  life's  dus- 
ky even; 
£et  the  faint  sun  of  time  set  in  peace  as  it 
rose, 
And  eternity  open  thy  morning  in  heaven. 

Then  hope,  lovely  passion,  thy  torch  shall 
expire, 
Effusing  on  nature  life's  last  feeble  ray; 
While  the  night  maid  of  love  sets  her  taper 
on  fire, 
To   guard  smiling  beauty  from  time  far 
away. 


FAREWELL  TO  FRANCES. 

Farewell !  if  ne'er  I  see'  thee  more, 
Thdugri  distant  calls  my  flight  impel, 


78 

I  shall  not  less  thy  grace  adore, 
So  friend,  forever  fare  thee  well. 

Farewell !  forever,  did  I  say  ? 

What,  never  more  thy  face  to  see  ? 
Then  take  the  last  fond  look  to-day, 

And  still  to-morrow  think  of  me. 

Farewell  !  alas,  the  tragic  sound 
Has  many  a  tender  bosom  torn; 

While  desolation  spread  around, 
Deserted  friendship  left  to  mourn. 

Farewell!  awakes  the  sleeping  tear, 
The  dormant  rill  from  sorrow's  eye, 

Express'd  from  one  by  nature  dear, 
Whose  bosom  heaves  the  latent  sigh. 

Farewell !  is  but  departure's  tale, 
When  fond  association  ends, 

And  fate  expands  her  lofty  sail, 

To  show  the  distant  flight  of  friends. 

Alas  !  and  if  we  sure  must  part, 
Far  separated  long  to  dwell, 

I  leave  thee  with  a  broken  heart, 
So  friend,  forever,  fare  thee  well. 

I  leave  thee,  but  forget  thee  never, 
Words  cannot  my  feeling  tell, 


**Faro  thed  well,  and  if  former, 
Sjtill  forever  fare  thee  well." 


THE  RETREAT  FROM  MOSCOW. 

Sad  Moscow,  thy  fate  do  I  see* 
Fire  !  lire  !  in  the  city  all  cry  ; 

Like  quails  from  the  eagle  all  flee, 
JEscape  in  a  moment  or  die. 

It  looks  lite  the  battle  of  Troy, 
The  stclrm  rises  higher  and  higher ; 

The  scene  of  destruction  all  hearts  must  an* 
noy, 
The  whirlwinds,  the  smoke,-  and  the  fire* 

The  dread  conflagration  rolls  forth, 
Augmenting  the  rage  of  the  wind, 

Which  blows  it  from  soilth  unto  norths 
And  leaves  but  the  embers  behind; 

It  looks  l&e  Gomorrah?  the  flame 
Is  moving  Still  nigher  arid  nigher, 

Aloud  from  all  quarters  the  people  proclaim^ 
The  whirlwinds,  the  sniok«e,,  and  the  firq* 

Jl  dead  fumigation  now  swells, 
A  b^ue  circle  darkens  the  air, 


74 

With  tones  as  the  pealing  of  bells, 
Farewell  to  the  brave  and  the  fair. 

O  Moscow,  thou  city  of  grace, 

Consign'd  to  a  dread  burning  pyre, 

From  morning  to  ev'ning  with  sorro.w  I  trace 
The  wild  winds,  the^  smoke,  and  the  fire. 

The  dogs  in  the  kennel  all  howl, 
The  wether  takes  flight  with  the  ox, 

Appal'd  on  the  wing  is  the  fowl, 
The  pigeon  deserting  her  box. 

With  a  heart  full  of  pain,  in  the  night 

Mid  hillocks  and  bogs  I  retire, 
Through  lone,  deadly  vallies  I  steer  by  ite 
light, 

The  wild  storm,  the  smoke,  and  the  fire* 

Though  far  the  crash  breaks  on  my  ear, 
The  stars  glimmer  dull  in  the  sky, 

The  shrieks  of  the  women  I  hear, 
The  fall  of  the  kingdom  is  nigh. 

O  heaven,  when  earth  is  no  more, 
And  all  things  in  nature  expire, 

May  I  thus,  with  safety,  keep  distant  before 
The  whirlwinds,  the  smoke,  and  the  fire. 


IMPLORING  TO  BE  RESIGNED  AT  DEATH. 

Let  me  die  and  not  tremble  at  death* 
But  smile  at  the  close  of  my  day* 

And  then,  at  the  flight  of  my  breath, 
Like  a  bird  of  the  morning  in  May* 
Go  chanting  away. 

Let  me  did  without  fear  of  the  dead, 
No  horrors  my  soul  shall  dismay, 

And  with  faith's  pillow  Under  my  head, 
With  defiance  to  mortal  decay, 
Go  chanting  away. 

Let  me  die  like  a  son  of  the  brave, 
And  martial  distinction  display, 

Nor  shrink  from  a  thought  of  the  grave, 
No,  but  with  a  smile  from  the  clay* 
Go  chanting  away* 

Let  me  die  glad,  regardless  of  pain, 
No  pang  to  this  world  to  betray ; 

Arid  the  spirit  cut  loose  from  its  chain, 
So  loath  in  the  flesh  to  delay, 
Go  chanting  away. 

Let  me  die,  and  my  worst  foe  forgive, 
When  death  veils  the  last  vital  ray ) 


Since  I  have  but  a  moment  to  live, 
Let  me,  when  the  last  debt  I  pay, 
Go  chanting  away, 

fe  THE  PLEASURES  GfF  COLLEG#  tlFE. 

With  tears  I  leave  these  academic  bowers, 
And  cease  to  cull  the  scientific  flowers ; 
With  tears  I  hail  the  fair  succeeding  train, 
And  take  my  exit  with  a  breast  of  pain, 
The  Fresh  may  trace  these  w6nd£f£  as  they 

smile ; 
The  stream  of  sciericC  like  the  river  Nile, 
Reflecting  mental  beauties  as  it  flows, 
Which  all  tl^e  charms  of  College  life  disclose j 
This  sacred  current  as  it  runs  refines, 
Whilst  Byron  sings  and  Shakspeajre's  mirror 

shines,. 
First  like  a  garden  flower  did  I  rise, 
When  on  the  college  bloom  I  cast  my  eyes; 
I  strove  to  emulate  each  smiling  gem, 
Resolved  to  wear  the  classic  diadem  » 
But  when  the  Freshman^s  garden  breeze  was 

gone'/ 
Around  me  spread  a  vast  extensive  lawn'; 
'Twas  there  the  muse  of  college  life  begun, 
Beneath  the  rays  of  erudition's  stiri, 


'Where  study  drew  the  mystic  focus  down, 
And  lit  the  lamp  of  nature  with  renown  ; 
There  first  I  heard  the  epic  thunders  roll, 
And  Homer's  light'ning  darted  through  my 

soul. 
Hard  was  the  task  to  trace  each  devious  line; 
Though  Locke  and  Newton  bade  me  soar 

and  shine ; 
I  sunk  beneath  the  heat  of  Franklin's  blazer 
And  struck  the  notes  of  philosophic  praise  ; 
With  timid  thought  I  strove  the  test  to  stand. 
Reclining  on  a  cultivated  land, 
Which  often  spread  beneath  a  college  bower:. 
And  thus  invoked  the  intellectual  shower  \ 
E'en  that  fond  sire  on  whose  depilous  crown, 
The  smile  of  courts  and  states  shall  shed  re? 

nown ; 
Now  far  above  the  noise  of  country  strife, 
I  frown  upon  the  glooni  of  rustic  life, 
Where  no  pure  stream  of  bright  distinction 

flows, 
No  mark  between  the  thistle  and  the  rose  f 
One's  like  a  bird  encaged  and  bare  of  food, 
Borne  by  the  fowler  from  his  native  wood, 
Where  sprightly  oft  he  sprung  from  spray  to 

spray, 
^nd  cheer'd  the  forest  with  his  artless  lay. 


78 

Or  fluttered  o'er  the  purling  brook  at  will, 
Sung  in  the  dale  or  soar'd  above  the  hill. 
Such  are  the  liberal  charms  of  college  life, 
Where  pleasure  flows  without  a  breeze  of 

strife; 
And  such  would  be  my  pain  if  cast  away, 
Without  the  blooms  of  study  to  display. 
Beware,  ye  college  birds,  again  beware, 
And  shun  the  fowler  with  his  subtile  snare; 
Nor  fall  as  one  from  Eden,  stript  of  all 
The  life  and  beauty  of  your  native  hall; 
Nor  from  the  garden  of  your  honor  go, 
Whence  all  the  streams  of  fame  and  wisdom 

flow; 
Where  brooding  Milton's  theme  purls  sweet 

along 
W7ith  Pope  upon  the  gales  of  epic  song; 
Where  you  may  trace  a  bland  Demosthenes, 
Whose  oratoric  pen  ne'er  fails  to  please; 
And  Plato,  with  immortal  Cicero, 
And  with  the  eloquence  of  Horace  glow; 
There  cull  the  dainties  of  a  great  Ainsworth, 
Who  sets  the  feast  of  ancient  language  forth; 
Or  glide  with  Ovid  on  his  simple  stream, 
And  catch  the  heat  from  Virgil's  rural  beam; 
Through  Addison  you  trace  creation's  fire, 
And  all  the  rapid  wheels  of  time  admire ; 


Or  pry  with  Paley's  theologic  rays, 
And  hail  the  hand  of  wisdom  as  you  gaze; 
Up  Murray's  pleasant  hill  you  strive  to  climb, 
To  gain  a  golden  summit  all  sublime, 
And  plod  through  conic  sections  all  severe, 
Which  to  procure  is  pleasure  true  and  dear. 
The  students'  pensive  mind  is  often  stung, 
Whilst  blundering  through  the   Greek  and 

Latin  tongue; 
Parsing  in   grammars   which  may  suit  the 

whole, 
And  will  the  dialect  of  each  control. 

Now  let  us  take  a  retrospective  view, 
And  whilst  we  pause,  observe  a  branch  or  two. 
Geography  and  Botany  unfold 
Their  famous  charms  like  precious  seeds  of 

gold; 
Zoology  doth  all  her  groups  descry, 
And  with  Astronomy  we  soar  on  high; 
But  pen  and  ink  and  paper  all  would  fail, 
To  write  one  third  of  this  capacious  tale. 
Geography  presents  her  flowery  train, 
Describes   the    mountain   and    surveys   the 

plain, 
Measures  the  sounding  rivers  as  they  grow, 
Unto  the  trackless  deeps  to  which  they  flow: 
She  measures  well  her  agriculture's  stores, 


Which  meet  her  commerce  on   the  golder* 

shore, 
Includes  the  different  seasons  of  the  year, 
And  changes  which  pervade  the  atmosphere? 
Treats  of  the  dread  phenomena  which  rise 
In  different  shapes  on  earth,  Or  issue  from 

the  skies; 
She  points  in  truth  to  Lapland's  frozen  climq? 
And  nicely  measures  alt  the  steps  of  time; 
Unfolds  the  vast  equator's  burning  line', 
Where  all  the  stores    of  heat  dissolve  anc( 

shine; 
Describes  the  earth  as  utfperceived  she  rolls* 
Her  well-poised  axis  placed  upon  the  poles*.* 
Botany,whose  charms  her  florists  well  display, 
Whose  lavish  odpurs  swell  the  pomp  of  May? 
Whose  purling  wreaths  the  steady  box  adorn, 
And  fill  with  fragrance  all  the  breeze  of  morri. 
Through  various  means  her  plants  are  oft  ap? 

plied, 
Improved  by  art,  and  well  hy  nature  tried; 
Thro'  her,  the  stores  of  herbage  are  unroll'd, 
All  which  compose  the  vegetable  world; 
tjven  the  sensitives,  which  feel  and  shrink, 
From  slightest  touches,  though  they  cannot 

think, 
Nor  yet  rejoice,  void  of  the  power  to  fear, 


01 

dr  sense  to  smell,  to  see,  to  taste,  or  hear. 
Zoology,  with  her  delightful  strain, 
f)oth  well  the  different  animals  explain; 
From  multipedes  to  emmets  in  the  dust. 
And  all  the  groveling  reptiles  of  disgust; 
She  well  descries  the  filthy  beetle  blind, 
"With  insects  high  and  low  of  every  kind; 
She  with  her  microscope  surveys  the  mite, 
Whi.eh  ne?er  could  be  beheld  by  naked  sight; 
Thence  sne  descends  into  the  boundless  deep, 
Where  dolphins  play  and  monsters  slowly 

creep; 
pxplofes  (he  fotfmiug  main  from   shore  to 

shore, 
And  hears  With  aive  tfie  dshing  sea  bull  roarj 
Traces  enormous  whales  exploding  high 
Their  floods  of  briny  water  to  the  sky; 
Desribes  the  quadrupeds  of  ever  shape. 
The  bear,  the  camel,  elephant  and  ape, 
And  artful  monkey,  which  but  lack  to  tatk7 
And  like  the  human'  kind  uprightly  walk. 
Astronomy,  with  her  aerial  powers, 
Lifts  iis  above  this  dfeafy  globe  of  Ours; 
Throughout  the  realms  of  ether's  vast  expanse, 
Her  burning  wings  our  towering  minds  ad- 
vance^ 
^Measures  her  tropic  well  from  line  tp  line. 


8* 

And  marks  her  rolling  planets  as  they  shine; 
Describes  the  magnitude  of  every  star, 
And  thence  pursues  her  comets  as  they  roll 
afar. 
But  nature  never  yet  was  half  explored, 
Though  by  philosopher  and  bard  adored; 
Astronomer  and  naturalist  expire, 
And  languish  that  they  could  ascend  no  higher; 
Expositors  of  words  in  every  tongue, 
Writers  of  prose  and  scribblers  of  song, 
Would  fail  with  all  their  mathematic  powers, 
And  vainly  study  out  their  fleeting  hours. 
Sir  Walter  Baleigh,  Pen  and  Roberson, 
With  Morse  and  Snowden,  who  are  dead  and 

gone, 
They  all  were,  though    mused    their   lives 

away, 
And  left  ten  thousand  wonders  to  display. 
And  though  the  fiery  chemists  probe  the  mine. 
The  subterraneous  bodies  to  define; 
Though  melting  flames  the  force  of  matter  try, 
Rocks  mix'd  with  brass  and  gold  to  pieces  fly; 
And  those  who  follow  the  electric  muse, 
Amidst  the  wilds  of  vast  creation  loose 
Themselves  like  pebbles  in  the  swelling  main, 
And  strive  for  naught  these  wanders  to  ex- 
plain; 


88 

Galvin  himself,  the  monarch  of  the  whole, 
Would  blush  his  empty  parchments  to  unroll. 
These  different  branches  to  one  ocean  go, 
"Where  all  the  streams  of  life  together  flow, 
Where  perfect  wisdom  swells  the  tide  of  joy, 
A  tide  which  must  eternity  employ; 
A  boundless  sea  of  love  without  a  shore, 
Whose  pleasure  ebbs  and  flows  forever  more; 
Volume  Divine  !  O  thou  the  sacred  dew, 
Thy  fadeless  fields  see  elders  passing  through, 
Thy  constant  basis  must  support  the  whole, 
The  cabinet  and  alcove  of  the  soul; 
It  matters  not  through  what  we  may  have 

pass'd, 
To  thee  for  sure  support  we  fly  at  last; 
Encyclopedias  we  may  wander  o'er, 
And  study  every  scientific  lore, 
Ancient  and  modern  authors  we  may  read, 
The  soul  must  starve  or  on  thy  pastures  feed. 
These  bibliothic  charms  would  surely  fall, 
And  life  grow  dim  within  this  college  wall, 
The  wheels  of  study  in  the  mind  would  tire, 
If  not  supported  by  thy  constant  fire; 
Greatest  of  all  the  precepts  ever  taught 
Maps  and  vocabularies  dearly  bought, 
Purns  with  his  harp,  Scott,  Cambell,  and  their 
flowers, 


84 

Will  shrink  without  the?  everlasting  showers; 
Theology,  thou  sweetest  science  yet, 
Beneath  whose  boughs  the  silent  classics  sitf 
And  thus  imbibe  the  sacred  rays  divine, 
Which  make  the  mitred  faculty  to  shine; 
O  for  a  gleam  of  Buck,  immortal  muse, 
With  elder  Scott  and  Henry  to  peruse; 
These  lines  which  did  a  secret  bliss  inspire, 
And  set  the  heads,  the  hearts,  the  tongues, 

on  fire. 
Such  is  the  useful  graduate  indeed, 
Not  merely  at  the  bar  in  law  to  plead,      . 
Nor  a  physician  best  to  heal  the  flesh, 
But  all  the  mystic  power  of  soul  and  flesh; 
On  such  a  senior  let  archangels  smile? 
And  all  the  students  imitate  his  style. 
Who  bears  with  joy  the  mission  all  divine, 
The  beams  of  sanctitude,  a  Paul  benign; 
Whose  sacred  call  is  to  evangelise, 
A  gospel  prince,  a  legate  of  the  skies, 
Whose  bright  diploma  is  a  deed  from  heaven, 
The  palm  of  love,  the  wreath  of  sins  forgiven. 


THE  GRADUATE  LEAVING  COLLEGE, 

What  summons  do  I  hear  ? 

The  morning  peal,  departures  knell ; 


If 

My  eyes  let  fall  a  friendly  tear* 
And  bid  this  place  farewell. 

Attending  servants  come; 

The  carriage  wheels  like  thunders  roar, 
To  bear  the  pensive  seniors  home, 

Here  to  be  seen  no  more. 

Pass  one  more  transient  night, 

The  morning  sweeps  the  college  clean; 
The  graduate  takes  his  last  long  flight, 

No  more  in  college  seen; 

The  bee,  which  courts  the  flower, 
Must  with  some  pain  itself  employ,3 

And  then  fly,  at  the  day'd  last  hour,* 
Home  to  its  hive  with  joy* 


TO  THE  KING  OF  MACEDONIA.' 
Phillip,  thou  ajt  piprtal ! 

Thou  may'st  with  pleasure  hail  the  dawn,- 

And  greet  the  morning's  eye  ; 
Remember,  king,  the  night  comes  on, 
The  fleeting  day  will  soon  be'  gone, 
Not  distant,  loud  proclaims  the  funeral  tone, 

Phillip,  thou  hast  to  die. 


86 

With  thee  thy  dame,  the  queen  of  birds, 

May  spread  her  wing  to  fly; 
Or  smile  to  trace  the  numerous  herds, 
Thunders  from  the  Lord  of  lords, 
I  hear  some  peal  surpassing  human  words, 

Philip,  thou  hast  to  die* 

Thou  rrtayst  thy  mighty  host  survey 

And  neighboring  kings  defy, 
Whilst  round  thy  retinues  flit  gay, 
Beneath  thy  pomp's  imperial  ray, 
Make  merry  on  the  tide  of  joy  to  day, 

To-morrow  thou  shalt  die. 

I  heave  to  hear  the  day's  last  peal, 

A  sorrow  teeming  sighj 
The  morning's  fluttering  bird  has  flowri, 
The  roses  fade,  so  quickly  blown,- 
The  lofty  king  falls  robeless  from  his  throne, 

Philip  was  born  to  die. 

'Twas  thus  the  haughty  king  of  France 

Strove  to  ascend  on  high; 
Lifting  his  adamantine  lance, 
He  bade  his  dauntless  war-»horse  pnince, 
Defied  the  World,  and  rode  the  car  of  chance, 

To  rage,  to  fume  and  die. 

Thus  vile,  thus  obstinately  vain, 
.   He  pours  his  distant  brag, 


87 

Regardless  of  his  millions  slain, 
Regales  his  pale  surviving  train, 
Was  but  wraped  in  his  infernal  chain, 
Dies  on  the  ocean  crag. 

This  faithful  lesson  read  to  all 

Creation,  far  and  nigh, 
It  is  the  fate,  from  Adam's  fall, 
The  swain,  the  king,  the  low,  and  tall, 
The  watchman  of  the  grave  must  give  the  call, 

Mortal,  thou  hast  to  die. 


DIVISION  OF  AN  ESTATE. 

It  well  bespeaks  a  mail  beheaded,  quite 

Divested  of  the  laurel  robe  of  life, 

"When  every  member  struggles  for  its  base, 

The  head;  the  power  of  order  now  recedes, 

Unheeded  efforts  rise  on  every  side, 

With  dull  emotion  rolling  through  the  brain 

Of  apprehending  slaves*     The   flocks   and 

herds, 
In  sad  confusion,  now  run  to  and  fro, 
And  seem  to  ask,  distressed,  the  reason  why 
That  they  are  thus  prostrated.  Howl,  ye  dogs! 
Ye  cattle,  low  !  ye  sheep,  astonish'd,  bleat ! 
Ye  bristling  swine,  trudge  squealing  through 

the  glades, 


m 

Void  of  an  owner  10  impart  your  fooiH 
Sad  hoVses,  lift  your  heads  and  heigh  atoudf 
And  caper  frantic  from  the  dismal  scene  j 
Mow  the  last  food  upon  your  grass-clad  lea^ 
And  leave  a  solitary  home  behind, 
In  hopeless  widowhood  no"  longer  gay  ! 
The  traveling  sun  of  gain  his  journey  erfds 
In  unavailing  pain  J  he  sets  with  tears;' 
A  king  sequester' d  Striking  from  his  throne, 
Succeeded  by  a  train  of  busy  friends, 
Lffce  stars  which  rise  with  smiles,  to  mark  the 

flight 
Of  awful  Phoebus  to  another  World  f 
Stars  after  stars  in  fleet  succession  rise 
Into  the  wide  empire  of  fortune  clear, 
Regardless  of  trie  donor  of  their  lamps/ 
Li£e  heirs  forgetful  of  parental  care, 
Without  a  grateful  smile  or  filial  tear^ 
Redound  in  rev'rerice  to  expiring  age. 
But  soon  parental  benediction  flies 
Like  vivrd  meteors  ;  in  a  moment  gone, 
As  though  they  ne'er  had  been.     But  0\  the 

state, 
The  dark  suspense  hr  whiph  poor  vassals 

stand, 
Each  mind  upon  the  spire  of  chance  hangs' 

fluctuant ; 


89 

The  day  of  separation  is  at  hand  ;' 
Imagination  lifts  her  gloomy  curtains, 
Like  ev'ning's  mantle  at  the  flight  of  day, 
Thro'  which  the  trembling  pinnacle  we  spy, 
On  which  we  soon  must  stand  with  hopeful 

smiles, 
Or  apprehending  frowns  ;  to  tumble  on 
The  right  or  left  forever. 

PRIDE  IN  HEAVEN. 

On  heaven's  ethereal  plain, 
With  hostile  rage  ambition  first  begun, 
When  the  arch  rebel  strove  himself  to  reign 

And  take  Jehovah's  throne. 
Swift  to  the  fight  the  seraphim 
On  floods  of  pride  were  seen  to  swim, 
And  bold  defy  the  power  supreme^ 

And  thus  their  God  disown. 

High  on  a  dome  of  state, 
From  azure  fielcls  he  cast  his  daring  eye, 
Licentious  trains  his  magazines  await, 

At  whose  command  they  fly. 
The  gloom  excludes  celestial  charms, 
When  all  the  angels  rush  to  arms, 
Heaven  shakes  beneath  the  vast  alarms, 

And  earth  begins  to  sigh. 


90 

Eternal  mountains  move, 
And  seven-fold  thunders  rock  the  hills  below. 
While  starry  throngs  desert  the  worlds  above, 

Beneath  Jehovah's  brow. 
O  Lucifer,  thou  morning  son, 
To  glut  thy  pide  what  hast  thou  done  ? 
Sing,  0  ye  heavens,  the  plague  is  gone, 

And  weep,  thou  earth,  for  wo. 

Creation  felt  the  fall, 
And  trembling  nature  heay'd  a  dismal  groan; 
For  that  rebellion  brought  her  into  thrall, 

She  must  her  fate  bemoan  ; 
See  angels  fall  no  more  to  rise, 
And  feed  the  worm  that  never  dies ; 
No  ear  of  grace  can  hear  their  cries, 

And  hoarse  lamenting  tone. 

Weak  nature  lay  exposed, 
And  felt  the  wound  in  pleasing  hate  conceal'd; 
And,  void  of  fear,  the  secret  charm  disclosed 

Which  ev'ry  ill  reveaj'd. 
The  venom  struck  through  ev'ry  vein, 
And  every  creature  felt  the  pain; 
But  undefiled  a  lamb  was  slain, 

By  which  the  wound  was  heal'd. 


01 
TO  MISS  TEMPE. 

Bless'd  hope,  -when  Tempe  takes  her  last 
long  flight, 

And  leaves  her  lass-lorn  lover  to  complain, 
Like  Luna  mantling  o'er  the  brow  of  night. 

Thy  glowing  wing  dispels  the  gloom  of  pain. 

Yes,  wondrous  hope,  when  Tempe  sails  afar, 
Thy  vital  lamp  remains  to  burn  behind, 

While  by-gone  pleasure,  like  a  setting  star, 
Reflects  her  glory  o'er  the  twilight  mind? 

Thy  glowing  wing  was  never  spread  to  tire, 
Expanded  o'er  the  mansion  of  the  brave, 

To  fan  and  set  the  heaving  breast  on  fire, 
That    soars    in  triumph    from  affliction's 
wave. 

Then,  Tempe,  dart  along  the  ocean  drear, 
Hope  yet  forbids  my  cheerful  soul  to  weep, 

But  marks  thy  passage  with  affection's  tear, 
And  hails  thee  on  the  bosom  of  the  deep. 

Farewell,  since  thou  wilt  leave  thy  native 
shore, 

I  smile  to  think  I  am  not  left  alone ; 
Auspicious  hope  shall  yet  my  peace  restore, 

When  thou  art  from  the  beach  forever  gone. 


92 

MAN  A  TQBCH. 

Blown  up  with  painful  care,  and  hard  to  light, 
A  glimmering  torch,  blown  in  a  moment  out; 
Suspended  by  a  webb,  an  angler's  bait. 
Floating  at  stake  along  the  stream  of  chance, 
Snatch'd  from  its  hook  by  the  fish  of  poyerty. 
A  silent  cavern  is  his  last  abode  ; 
T'he  king's  repository,  veil'd  with  gloom, 
The  umbrage  of  a  thousand  oziers  ;  bowed, 
The  couch  of  hallowed  bones,  the  slave's  asy- 
lum, 
The  brave's  retreat,  and  end  of  ev'ry  care. 


CONTENTS. 


.ife  of  the  Author,  3 

introduction,  21 

The  Musical  Chamber,  23 

A  Dirge,  25 

Death  of  a  favorite  Chamber  Maid,  26 

The  fearful  Traveller  in  the  haunted  Castle,  27 

To  Catharine,  29 

The  Swan — Vain  Pleasures,  SO 

The  powers  of  Love,  31 

To  a  departing  Favorite,  32 

The  Traveller,  33 

Eecent  appearance  of  a  Lady,  35 

Meditation  on  a  cold,  dark  and  rainy  night,  33 

On  an  old  deluded  Suitor,  37 

The  Woodman  and  Money  Hunter,  39 

The  eye  of  Love,  40 

The  setting  Sun,  41 

The  rising  Sun,  42 

Memory,  43 

Prosperity,  44 

Death  of  Gen.  Jackson,  45 

Mr.  Clay's  reception  at  Kaleigh,  46 

Clay's  Defeat,  49 

The  happy  Bird's  nest,  51 

The  fate  of  an  innocent  Dog,  52 

The  Tippler  and  hie  Bottle.  55 


04 


Rosabella — Purity  of  heart, 

56 

False  Weight, 

58 

Departing  Summer, 

59 

Reflections  from  the  flash  of  a  Meteor, 

60 

True  Friendship, 

61 

On  the  Conversion  of  a  Sister, 

63 

A  Billet  Doux, 

64 

Troubled  with  the  Itch, 

65 

Early  Affection, 

67 

The  Creditor  to  his  proud  Debtor, 

68 

Regret  for  the  Departure  of  Friends, 

69 

Farewell  to  Frances, 

71 

The  Retreat  from  Moscpw, 

73 

Imploring  to  be  resigned  at  Death, 

75 

On  the  Pleasures  of  a  College  Life, 

76 

THe  graduate  leaving  College, 

85 

Division  of  an  Estate, 

87 

Pride  in  Heaven, 

89 

To  Miss  Tempe, 

91 

Man  a  Torch,1 ' 

92 

SUBSCRIBERS'  NAMES. 


Thos.  M.  Arrington, 
A.  Alston, 
G.  W.  Brookes, 
Geo.  T.  Baskerville, 
William  K.  Blake, 
John  Wi  By  nu  m, 
Ridley  Brown, 

C.  B.  Brookes, 
T.  B.  Bailey, 
James  P.  Bryan, 
Joseph  Benjamin, 
V.  C.  Barringer, 
J.  C.  Coleman,' 
R.  Cow  per, 

J.  W.  Cameron, 
W.  F.  Carter, 
Alexr.  J.  Cansler, 
John  Y.  Campbell, 

D.  L.  Clinch, 
D.  Clanton, 
Alexr.  O.  Daniel, 
William  J.  Duke, 
J.  N.  Daniel, 
William  A.  Daniel, 
H.  M.  Dusenbery, 
"\Viljiam  H.  Davie, 


T.  A.  Donoho, 
Thomas  W.  Dewey, 
William  A.  Faison, 
Solomon  J.  Faison, 
L.  CJ.  Farrell, 
James  S.  Green, 
Wijliam  M.  Green, 
James  pallier,  jr. 
Augustus  Graves, 
James  W.  Hicks, 
Wm.  M.  Howerton, 
E.  A.  Roscoe  Hooker, 
E.  W.  Hall, 
Edward  H.  Hicks, 
H.  0.  W.  Hooker, 
Thomas  C.  Hall, 
G.  O.  Hines, 
^ames  J.  Herring, 
E.  Burke  Haywood, 
R.  C.  T.  S.  Hilliard, 
William  H.  Jones, 
D.  §.  Johnston, 
James  M.  Johnson, 
James  J.  Iredell, 
John  J.  Kindred, 
Martin  A.  Lyon, 


96 


Charles  E.  Lowther, 
Lionel  L.  Levy, 
J.  S.  Lncas, 
W.  B.  Meares, 
O.  P.  Meares, 
J.  D.  Mysick, 
Wm.  Henry  Manly, 
John  Mallett, 
Edward  Mallett, 
John  Murphy, 
John  L.  Malone, 
John  A.  Malone, 
James  L.  Moseley, 
C.  M'Eachin, 
E.  H.  Norcom, 
Thos.  C.  Pinckard, 
John  Pool, 
Thomas  J  Person, 
L.  H.  Rogers, 
Alexander  Ramsey, 
James  S.  Ruffin, 
Alfred  M.  Scales, 
W.  M.  Smith, 
Edward  M.  Scott, 


Thos.  E.  Skinner, 
David  L.  Swain, 
John  V.  Sherard, 
John  K.  Strange, 
T.  W.  Steele, 
James  G.  Scott, 
Charles  Shober, 
William  S.  Trigg, 
R.  E.  G.  Tucker, 
R.  Taleavero, 
D.  T.  Tayloe, 
Edward  Thorne, 
Robert  H.  Tate, 
John  Wilson, 
N.  L.  Walker, 
H.  G.  Williams, 
Geo.  W.  Whitfield, 
Thomas  White,  jr. 
Thomas  C.  William* 
L.  G.  Whyte, 
John  H.  Watson, 
Thomas  Webb, 
James  R,  Ward. 


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